#galaxy brain thought from frazzled

[huneyrain]

' ' let's keep dancing (to a place beyond our dreams) ' '

.・。.・゜✭・❤・✫・゜・。.

also on ao3 // word count: 6,195 // bachisagi 1/1 fluff fic

TL;DR :: Isagi is a competitive ballroom dancer, stuck to following the rules and denying his true instincts. One competitive night, and a certain monstrous boy, tears it all down to rebuild anew.

.・。.・゜✭・❤・✫・゜・。.

Footsteps clashed against the waxed wooden floors, the music overpowering the creaks of an ancient building as fingers interlaced. Rhythmic movements followed each beat, the song’s slow melody lulling the dancers into security as they spun around each other, bright lights beating down from above. They shone like stars above the Earth, but rather, in front of the crowd, the stage their personal galaxy as they attempted with all their capabilities to dazzle the planets watching. 

Onlookers sat still, nestled in cushioned theater seats as the dancers glided across the stage, black strands of hair blowing across one’s face while they focused on their assigned partner. 

Any viewer would expect a climactic moment— the song’s tune peaking just as the performers pulled off a magnificent stunt, dazzling the audience with an unforgettable show. A couple to step out of the status quo; a couple to give in to their ego. 

The song tapered off, with both performers panting, blue eyes shining beneath dark bangs as they bowed.

This show was not that show. 

“Isagi Yoichi,” they called out, a booming voice overflowing from speakers across the auditorium. “7.9 out of 10. Please bring out the next contestants.”

That was that. Follow your routine, Isagi.

Contained egoism had left him mediocre among the sea of creativity.

════════════════

Isagi fell defeatedly onto his bed, still dressed in black-tie attire from his underwhelming competition. Ankles and feet ached, legs helplessly sore, although he was too exhausted to lift them up entirely onto the bed— rather, he threw a pillow over his face, hair frazzled from the static and sweat clinging to the strands. 

“I can’t believe I lost,” he groaned, the cushiony pillow muffling his words into incoherent nonsense. “We had choreographed it so perfectly.” 

Mundanely, his mind mocked him, nestling himself further into his soft, welcoming grave, his pure intentions to do nothing more than rot for the night in his disappointingly-wasted outfit; at least, he saw it as wasted, without a win. 

He couldn’t avoid the fact, his heart aching, held back in chains as he tended to do. 

“Dance is an art, a strategy, a plan. You can’t go off script— remember that.”

He’d supposed he’d followed instructions— he thought about it more often than he wished he would. 

Puppet strings tugged at his heart, his brain, his limbs, controlling each move on the stage according to a predetermined program, his freedoms drained as he claws for the prize. The prize, the glory, the excitement lies just beyond his reach, and frankly, out of sight; an image of potential greatness muddled beneath the faces of competition and judges alike, all aiming to stand in his way. 

Something inside of him ached for more than that end.

A sigh parted Isagi’s lips, hair strands clinging with static to the pillowcase as he pulled away, sitting up on the edge of his bed. Fingers with finely-painted black nails interlaced with his matching tie, undoing the knot that held the accessory’s composure before slipping the smooth fabric across his hands. He found himself entirely consumed in thought, unaware of his own actions as he lost himself within his mind while continuing his post-competition routine. 

Hot water splashed his hands, a wince escaping him as he pushed up just an inch on the dial in response, perfecting the temperature. Blue eyes blankly stared as the water collected, foaming up beneath the spout with the aggression at which the water flowed into the bath. A sprinkle of epsom salts and a short pour of bath oil splashed in, now-free hands carefully folding up removed clothing before lowering the man’s aching body into the sweet spa he’d created. He hissed as the scalding water brushed against bare skin, adjusting to the heat as it soothed his aching muscles and put his mind to ease. 

As he settled into his newfound comfort, leaning forward just to turn off the faucet, a gentle but firm knock interrupted his peace. 

“Yoichi?”

He groaned, sinking further into a watery escape; he obviously recognized the voice, even through the door.

“What’s up, mom?”

“The mail just came; you got this, uh—” He could hear her fidgeting with paper on the other end, along with the crinkling plastic of a letter window. “—this letter, it looks like it’s from a dance association!” 

Isagi’s eyes lit up, his demeanor shifting instantly as energy overflowed within him. His mom could certainly hear the abrupt splash of water , squeaking footsteps attempting to crawl their way out of a slippery situation.

“Holy sh— I mean, wow, really?” A towel quickly found itself in his hands, wrapped around himself snugly before swinging open the door. Wet footsteps trailed behind him, soaked strands of hair leaving beads of water on his face. He found himself holding the letter before his mother could even formulate a response, dots soaking through the thin paper as he ripped it open. 

Scanning over the page, he blinked wordlessly. 

You are invited to the World’s End Dancehall. 

. . . . . . .

“One night of ballroom dance… in hopes to ignite the Japanese dancing scene.” 

Words hung in the air as he reread over the letter, pacing back and forth in his room, hair still barely dry. His suit from earlier in the night was neatly folded atop his bed, the tie rolling from the pile to the floor as he sat down harshly beside it.

He grumbled as he continued muttering the instructions; “No bringing partners, come alone… How the hell does that make any sense?”

He set the paper frustratedly at his side, crinkling the page in his grip as his free hand pushed back his bangs, thumb rubbing over his temples to ease the tension. 

“They just expect us to… click with someone?” 

The formula wouldn’t like that. His freedom-driven heart would love that. 

He straightened out the now-creased paper, studying the letter with thoughtful intent.

When’s the date? Tomorrow— Sunday night. Attire? Dress to impress. The only rule? Don’t be fucking boring.

“Harsh,” he muttered, hurt. It’s ballroom dancing— can it be anything but boring? His spiteful attitude fed into his body, tensing his grip as he scanned the words to read through the last bit.

A dancer is only as good as their partner— find one that sets your heart ablaze. 

Half-crumpled paper fluttered to the floor as the young man stormed to his wardrobe, an aggressive touch rifling through outfits in sheer determination. His eyes seemed to shine a new emotion, feverish pupils darting across fabric, no piece seemingly good enough. A hand sunk into his hair, pushing it back with a rough grip atop his head. Isagi looked back to the letter he’d let fall to the ground, a newfound surge of energy.

“Fucking ridiculous. I’ll do it.” 

════════════════

The seventeen-year-old found himself wandering, car keys rattling in his hand as the other held up a map— if the mindlessly scribbled directions on the bottom corner of an invitation could even be called that. Tall blades of grass and weeds that grew amongst them brushed against his wrists, the only skin at that height not hidden beneath a smooth, blue-black suit. 

Black hair strands wisped out in front of his face, and he blew them away, the wind inevitably kicking them back moments later. Isagi, admittedly, was not one for fashion; this was not necessarily due to a disdain for it, but rather, a pure incompetence of the subject— how to accessorize properly, match colors, the like. It’s a fact he’d unfortunately accepted, struggling to find anything besides a standard outfit in his closet. 

Still though, with a night of Google searches and an ounce of his own creativity, he’d added his own touch. A blue vest was tight above a white undershirt, while his deep navy jacket rested at the forefront. The ultramarine bowtie he’d fished from his closet tied it together well, the shade mimicking the colors swirling in his eyes. Faint second thoughts crossed through him, nervous hands fidgeting with golden cufflinks. The dusty path beneath his feet soon turned to shimmering concrete. 

The once-distracted teenager glanced up, overgrown scenery flooding his vision, a grand hall in the center of an entirely abandoned area. Mind overcast with his own internal dialogue, he hadn’t even noticed the muttering of others, individuals all drawing closer to the location centered between them. Crowds gathered, pushing through the doors as if knowledgeable of their location— although, from more than just a second of observation, it was clear the masses were just as confused as he was. The moon granted the object of his curiosity a bit of light.

At first glance, the building that stood before him seemed a bit rickety and run-down, vines strewn along the supports as greenery overtook the bricks. It’d been painfully apparent the place was out of commission, at least until an odd party planner decided this to be the optimal hosting scene. He watched a number of attendees struggle over the cracked brick entryway, jagged rocks sticking out with weeds strewn about the concrete’s edges as the leading path broke off into the doorway. When it came his turn to walk through the passage, he made conscious note of the fractured spots beneath him, tip-toeing around them, for “a dancer with ruined shoes is no longer a dancer at all”. 

Perhaps that’d just been the instructions of his mom, ensuring as a young kid he’d kept his wares in good shape. He’d supposed, though, as his feet glided across the slick wood flooring that now met his stride, that a shoe with merely a crack could not allow for such smooth movement. His focus on the niceties distracted him from the intricate interior he stepped foot in. 

Gentle footsteps turned to screeching attempts to save balance as he felt himself meet the back of another, nearly toppling the both of them in the process. When he looked forward to apologize, he caught the cold glance of a black-haired boy nearly half a foot taller than him, and decided uttered words would be worse than simple silence to keep the peace. Though shaken, the incident turned his attention to the room expanding before him. 

Murmurs amongst the crowds bounced off the tall ceiling, a chandelier swinging with vibrations far above their heads. Odd knowledge of regalities told him it was Victorian – although it seemed to shine as if brand new, pulled out of the time from whence it was created to live out a life as an untimely, untouched masterpiece. Grand staircases curved in front of them, creating a cover around the doors standing far down the hall that well-dressed partygoers intermingled within. Royal red patterns detailed every wall, every crevice, every corner, with lengthy curtains draping over railings and empty wallspace longing to hold windows. Nearly every intricate detail of the interior felt medieval, aside from one glaring difference that, quite literally, stared them down—

Cameras. Dome cameras, pointed cameras swiveling on hinges, on a hunt; for each spot you felt secure, a camera could locate you, pinning down your exact footsteps and following closer than your shadow. The most prominent entries of the surveillance system projected their vision on a screen, hanging just behind the chandelier and just low enough to remain uncovered, although still being double Isagi’s own height above the floor. You could see each person projected above as they slowly raised their heads, the sudden shock hitting them as they struggled to decide whether they were the exhibition or the voyeurs. 

Isagi hadn’t noticed how thick the air grew as the crowd doubled, tripled, quadrupled into a horde. Shoulders bumped against each other, with little room but the alluring path that led down to the ballroom’s double-doors. Arms leaned on and hung over the railing’s edge above as they struggled finding space to fit into the decadent crowd. 

“Welcome, you unmolded lumps of coal.” 

. . . . . . .

Sudden silence fell over the crowd, the wind carrying whispers of spiteful remarks. Sharp hissing spat out from the speakers hidden amongst the walls, screens shifting from amorphous blobs of movement into a single view – one man, directing an expressionless glare at the lot below. 

His hair was a blatant mess, bangs brushing across the top of glasses hiding pupils behind their reflections. When he pushed one side of hair back, the cast of a ringlight bounced off of jewelry spotted across his fingers, rings that looked much too big for the thin frame of his hands. His lips could only seem to curl further down as he scowled. 

“Not used to disrespect, I see?” His voice was smooth, yet laced with an antagonizing bite. “Let’s keep in mind, the cameras do come with mics. Perhaps keep the bitterness to a minimum tonight.” 

His instructions quelled the crowd, the previous complainers shutting their mouths as their pride was quickly stripped. A few attendees cleared their throats as they struggled to bite their tongues.

The man projected above leaned back, as if he’d been seated in a rather-flexible computer chair. “Let’s cut to the chase, shall we? My name is Ego. You’ve all gathered here because you’ve received an invite — from Japan’s Professional Ballroom Dancers Association, no?”

Listeners below nodded along rather slow, and he continued.

“Yes, that’s right. Although, I’d say it was more from me than from them. The professional scouts were merely my pawns in deciding who’d get to play.”

Isagi let his focus wander across the countless heads surrounding him, trapping him in by height with his own suffocating thoughts. Simple frustration told him to cut his losses and leave with what unwasted time he’d still had left – but deep-hidden intrigue compelled him to stay. 

“You all read the letter,” Ego carried on, rolling his wrists as his hands spoke along with him. “We’re looking for a good duo, something that has to come naturally. If I saw you walk in with anyone,” his hands waved, as if shooing the crowd. “You’re disqualified. Get out.” 

The organizer groaned in the back of his throat as he saw a couple miniscule figures shifting through the crowd on the cameras, his disappointment apparent; his eyes read, however, that this was at least less work on his end. 

“Good. Carrying on— I had the Association’s scouts analyze you all individually. You’ve all presented in some sort of competition across the country; whether it was really an enjoyable performance or not is up for debate.”

Ouch. Isagi’s blank expression downturned into a frown. 

The negativity was quickly put out by the continuing monologue. “You roughly one-hundred individuals have all shown some level of promise, but you’re held back by the standards of being proper and prissy. The chains of formality are holding you back, and for most of you, it will continue that way.”

Murmuring ensued. “Struck a nerve?” The host taunted on, and for a moment, the first grin of the night had spread across his face. 

It was rather short-lived as he analyzed the reactions of his underlings. “It should have – unless your egos have all been replaced with a sorry excuse for people-pleasing.”

As he rambled on nonsensically about egoism and our supposedly pathetic talents, a figure stood half-visible beside the screen, just walking into frame and – assumably, based on his sudden shift and silence – mumbling something that held some level of importance. Her red-pink hair contrasted her highbrow appearance, a black suit top and long pencil skirt covered by a stack of carried papers. Ego nodded compliantly as a lanky, ring-adorned finger adjusted his glasses. 

“Right, time constraints; thank you, Anri.” 

Although apparently complaisant, a sigh slipped beneath his words. It’d seemed like he held an odd passion for this unusual competitive torment. 

“You all have one-hundred and eighty minutes — that’s roughly three hours, for those of you ill-educated. Two of you will go on to participate together with the Association— the rest of you are as good as dead. A majority of you here are coal, stuck to their destiny buried in some shitty kid’s stocking; but it takes immense pressure to turn near-coal into diamonds. If you’re not yet entirely molded, if your carbon molecules are still free enough to change, now is your time to shine. Or I suppose, if you’re all beyond saving, at least stoke a fire worth watching.”

Isagi felt the stilling of the crowd around him, following suit with his own mind. He couldn’t quite pinpoint when the words of the bastard behind the screen began to seem so appealing– but the silence only filled with harsh breathing led him to believe they all felt the same. 

“Your time starts now. Burn out, or burn bright.” 

The mesmerizing display fizzled away.

Seconds of confused glances were quickly met with answers, the doors down the hall swinging wide as the ballroom beckoned them in. The teen would say it seemed like magic, had his eye not caught the pass of a red hair wisp. 

A ticking above them caught his ear, and for a second, his focus shifted — a timer. One-hundred and eighty minutes. He’d hardly taken in the sight of it before the crowd’s forward movements swept him in. 

Time to make the most of it.

════════════════

The ballroom had been detailed just as decadent as the entryway, with the addition of marble arches patterned along the walls. The peculiar artistry had seemed to twist the room’s dimensions, the ceiling seeming to reach far into the sky with painted stars peppered across the sleek material. It’s as close as one could get to the outside, without (most) the disturbances of a modern reality. 

Tall windows stretched from top to bottom corners, although whatever reflected moonlight could be let in was blocked by the thick curtains strewn about; they’d been practically tied shut as to graciously remind attendees of their purpose, locking them into the intimidating atmosphere that’d determine their livelihood. 

That’s how Isagi saw it, at least. He didn’t quite consider the potential that others didn’t take it so seriously. The concept of a dancer not fully enveloping themselves within the act was entirely alien to him — he’d sooner engulf himself in the flames of devoted disaster before being remotely inattentive towards his craft. 

A familiar sharp tone pierced his ears, a low hiss in the background as notes enunciated themselves through the audible shroud. Speakers clicked on one by one, following the first, a sickening harmonious whine throwing a number of attendees off their balance. The pace was slow, lagging and intense; a horrendous first dance for new partnerships, Isagi’d thought. 

The dancers seemed to mix glances between each other, eyes all glazed over and empty with thoughtless confusion. Such a melodious tone required passion, but not so much to be uncomfortably forward amongst a sea of unfamiliar faces. Stand out, sure, but not out of form —that was the basis of a well-scripted ballroom masterpiece.

Scripted being the key, here. The word made Isagi drag his head back in discontent. 

His heels scraped against the waxed floors, which would provide perfect traction had they not been obviously recently done. Planted too hard against the ground, his shoes lifted up with a gluey schlick. Avoiding overcompensating his steps, for fear of overapplied pressure, was not something he could easily do in a high-strung state. 

His persistent-yet-failing attempts of flagging down a partner with merely his burning (realistically, dull) gaze had been met unrewarded. For the first time since he could remember, he was frozen, each puzzle piece of formulated strategy struggling to fall into place with the inconsistencies, the requirements for improvisation, the pure incoherency of everything—

The pieces crashed to his mind’s floor as the crowd pushed back suddenly. 

Nearly lost beneath him, his feet shifted to hold balance as his attention shot back, watching intermingled groups spread apart as a gap widened itself between the mass. Footsteps clicked against disagreeable flooring, a combination of the crowd’s stumbling, Isagi’s curious stride, and the sounds amidst the group he was so drawn towards.

“–ahaha! Come on, guys! You’re no fun!” 

Isagi refused to admit that he’d shoved his way through rather rudely, wedging himself between mingling potential-partners as the sound called him in. Each clack of movement from the undesignated source was simultaneously unrhythmic and in-step, as if following a tune entirely separate to the screeching hums surrounding them. Obscene on the ears as it was, it was intriguing, a term Isagi’d long learned to disassociate from dance entirely. To lack direction was to lose yourself, and to lose yourself was to lose focus— “one mustn't lose focus, or you’ll lose the beat!” or so they’d drilled into him. 

So why was this entirely self-gratifying cacophony of steps so satisfying?

He found himself promptly at the forefront of the congestion, which had still been shifting to avoid the centerpiece’s path.

A man– no, he had to be just his age, — pivoted on the ball of his foot, landing harsh on the other end with an outstretched hand. Breathless, his chest rose prominently with each desperate inhale that propelled him another step. Feathered strands of hair blew from his face, the majority of yellow bangs tied up just above his forehead, drops of sweat shimmering on exposed skin. Had the eccentricity of his movements not set him apart, his attire could easily do the job; White ruffles of a shirt hung from his chest, the buttoned center the only attempt at holding together an image amongst the sea of suits and ties. A belt, closer defined as a corset, held the fabric tightly to his waist, cinching off the flowy top to taper off into classic black pants, freshly-shined shoes already scuffed along their yellow trim. 

Something of the boy reminded him of a medieval mystery— perhaps a pirate, even, in attendance solely to pillage their prospect of normalcy. 

“It’s your loss; me and my monster are more than capable!”

He pivoted once more, hand drawn close to his chest before holding them out, grasping invisible hands of a partner nonexistent. Each footstep methodically followed the typical in-tandem moveset, a simple tango seeming so different with just the difference of one participant. That, and perhaps, the flair the demented dancer added along, his own steps in-time with what Isagi’d assumed was an internal rhythm. 

The display of oddity had at least spurred on some movement, other timid attendees coupling up as groups sectioned off. Floorspace grew wider as dancers ventured out of the herd— but perhaps this newfound confidence was only brought on by the collective still observing the questionably-solo performance. 

“Move over! Here comes the–”

Golden eyes burned with newfound passion as sensible, timed movements built up to grand measures. His multi-step movements quickly launched into a rotation, spinning himself before scratching heels against the fresh floor in an abrupt stop. His hand held out, not as if reaching, but as if guided by a partner in spirit, a ghostly hand the only separation between him and a cold, rough tumble to bystanders’ feet. Puzzled exchanges from onlookers seemed to miss a core detail: the way his arm tugged back in preparation.

As immersed as he’d let himself become with his craft, Isagi took notice of the slight change. A particular move he dared not practice alone, not just for safety, but physical inability— you can’t exactly be caught by air, and so there’s no way–

He’d pivoted sharply on his feet, pushing all his weight into a falling-back motion. 

Click.

Click, click, click.

The first footstep matched puzzle pieces convening; the rest met his heartbeat as he shot forward subconsciously. 

Barely-unfinished wax kept him from slipping, locking himself in place and thanking whatever minimum-wage janitor they’d hired for saving him from overshooting. The landing weight threw off his balance, legs shuffling beneath him in ill-preparation as he kept the young man firmly in his grasp. Wisps of hair fell from tied-up bangs, blown away with pursed lips as innocently playful eyes shone up at him. The golden-eyed expression quickly turned devilish as he laid in Isagi’s arms.

“Monster,” he bit down a sharp grin. 

. . . . . . .

Isagi’d not considered himself landing in this situation – sure, he was there to draw attention, that was this haphazardly-created game’s whole purpose; he’d just anticipated stares of awe over the gawks of judgement piercing his skin, a screwball dancer in delirium splayed across his arms. The tied-up tail of yellow bangs fell back atop his head, the few free strands of hair falling back to leave his sinister face in full display, giggling on an emotional high. It sort of made the blue-suited savior smile. 

Dragging his feet on the floor for traction, Isagi could sense the other’s attempt at pushing up, and he lifted him the remainder of the way to his feet. A heavy sigh of relief slipped through just barely parted lips, and the eccentric young man looked down to brush the wrinkles from his shirt — an impossible task for such a flowing garment, but it was the formality of it that mattered. 

“You should be more careful next time,” Isagi’s awkward ahem echoed as if there weren’t masses of dancers to muddle the sounds. His hands were trembling, twitching muscles a result of coursing adrenaline accumulating in his bloodstream without an outlet. The physiological response seemed purely reflexive, every cell in his body screaming out to dive in; he couldn’t quite explain, though, his lack of irritation. He’d expect to feel some sort of frustration from the circumstance he was in, the stupidity of another to dive backwards and risk injury in a competition so unusually selective and fickle. It was entirely reckless – risking the chance of a lifetime on some silly escapade. 

It was different. He loved that.

“I’m—”

“Isagi,” the name seemed to slip from his tongue too naturally. He’d outstretched an arm, pointing directly in the face of Yoichi himself, lips upturned with a gentle laugh. Monstrous eyes held a shine not before present on his own.  “You’re Yoichi Isagi.” 

Air caught in his throat, his own introduction stripped from his tongue. Black bangs blew forward with each shallow breath, an empty-headed glaze over blue eyes. He nodded.

“Do I know you..?” Who the fuck is this guy?

The respondent giggled. “No, I don’t think so!” 

His arm retracted fast, painted nails hiding away as hands curled into balls and pushed against naturally-flushed cheeks.

(Isagi’d assumed it was natural; or perhaps the oddball had been well-versed in makeup.)

“Meguru Bachira,” he beamed, and free yellow-and-brown strands fell past his lips. “I’ve seen you perform!” 

He wasn’t some big performer — that left more questions than answers. Bachira seemed to read well the confusion written across him.  

“I go to all the shows I can,” The oddity further explained himself, each word enunciated with a playful undertone, even as he eased Isagi’s confused concern. “Gotta know my competition, y’know?” 

For as short as he’d known the man, the other couldn’t help but smirk. “And for me, you took conscious note?”

“Oh, well your dance was pretty average.”

Isagi’s smug smile was quickly replaced by defensiveness, posture sealing himself off. A mental brick wall constructed instantaneously as forgotten guards replaced themselves. Right– competition. We’re here to judge and be judged, aren’t we?

One could call it a rash response, but frankly, he owed no niceties to a could-be stalker. His arms crossed in pout. 

He’d expected Bachira to pick up on his tonal shift, to redirect, or perhaps overcompensate and fawn him up. Rather, he seemed aloof, bouncing up on his toes as arms swung behind his neck, extending one into a cat-like stretch that rattled his body. He didn’t seem the most socially apt, but something about this observation eased the sting of his affront. 

“It wasn’t bad,” his words were elongated as his muscles released their tensions, falling back to his sides after with a huff. “Don’t get me wrong, I didn’t mean anything. You just seemed…” 

The shorter (which Isagi grumbled about silently— he always seemed to be the shorter) softened, willing and curious to listen. Bachira’s hand revolved at the joint in circles as he struggled to find the proper words. 

“...Bored. Withdrawn. And that’s just no fun, is it, huh?”   

“Bored?” 

“Yeah,” the barely-taller let his head weigh to the side. “Like ‘ya were following some script or something, I guess.”

Quite rude of him to clock me so easily. Or to act like that isn’t the norm.

“You don’t?” Isagi scoffed.

Bachira’s expression seemed blank, nonplussed, but shifted with intrigue as he spoke. “No. I dance with my monster. It says to dance the way I want to.” 

They’d caught each other off guard, heavy stares into eyes that were slowly understanding each other. A brick loosened from that mental guard wall, crashing to the floor, only the view of each other’s gaze, the window to their souls, left in the open space. Bachira found himself extending an upturned hand without thought. The other needn’t look to know. 

“You could try… dancing with a monster, too?”

There’s that familiar click again.

Perhaps it’d been the pieces snapping into place, or maybe it’d been the sound of their heels against the ground, hand in hand as he dragged Isagi along. The tappings of what’d been set in motion were the only noise audible to their ears, centering themselves amidst the sea of dancers that had finally been majority paired up.The music that played had long shifted from achingly slow, a pace more akin to each loud thump of Yoichi’s heart. Their fingers had interlaced long before they’d thought to ask, and so, they’d indirectly acknowledged, this was okay. This meetcute was unconventional— but Isagi craved unconventional. It was certainly something they shared, reveling in a need for defiance and egoism. It was simply a possibility he’d never been presented before—

Not until Meguru Bachira.

Their heels had dug into the somewhat-sticky wax of the floors, thwacking as they lifted into smoother, softer strides. Their steps danced around each other, never overtaking the other; rather, each movement seemed to fuel the other, catapulting them into new possibilities. A simple counting tango spun around on its head; the golden-eyed teen’s feet in-count with the other’s as he encapsulated him from behind, hands holding his partner’s from behind and arms folded into an “x” before releasing Isagi from the contained space, pivoting on the ball of his foot with each an outstretched arm barely holding on to one another. When Bachira pulled him back in, he’d lift his arms just too high up, forcing Isagi onto his toes so he could more easily glide him across ill-prepared floors. 

“Don’t let me have all the fun,” the tone was low, laced with mischief and underlying laughter; Bachira’d leaned in just beside his ear, black locks brushing against brown-and-yellow wisps of hair as his breath warmed him, bringing sensation back to the surreal. “Take over, monster.”

“I’m no monster,” Isagi scoffed, eyes rolling in diffidence. No, that was a title reserved for Bachira, or whatever voice he had whispering in the winds around him, the one only he could hear. That was a name, based off what he’d witnessed, reserved solely for one who’d step out from the status quo, and Yoichi Isagi was not that one, no matter how much he’d like to be. He couldn’t help but analyze each precarious step he made, desperate to keep in-line with the other. How could movements so spontaneous be so skillful, as if the concepts were premeditated within an instant of a second?

“Sure you are— in there,” A rough arm tug pulled the doubtful dancer in, stumbling over his own feet and landing inches away from Bachira’s index finger, yellow nail polish filling half of his vision as the boy pointed to his eye. Isagi released a tense breath as he caught his balance and felt confident he wasn’t about to get his eye poked out. 

“There’s a fire inside of you. I see it.” 

God, this guy is fucking insane. He didn’t feel knowing that was any more practical for bringing out his “monster”. 

“No, really,” He continued, giggles easing Isagi’s apprehension. “Your eyes sparkle a lil’ different when we dance together. I pay a lot of attention to eyes, y’know.” 

Isagi snickered. “You get off on them?” 

“Mhm.” 

“Gross,” He laughed, but his shameless demeanor read that he wasn’t lying – maybe he shouldn’t lock eyes with the psycho so much.

But he couldn’t deny the way he burned up looking at him. 

Isagi blinked away illicit ideas, ones of which towed the line between dance, and matters more personal. When their hands met back-to-back, knuckles tough against soft skin, invisible needles pricked his skin with warmth as hair stood on end. They paced circles around each other, and, although his mind was just as clouded as before, perhaps it’d helped that his dancing capabilities were no longer alone at the forefront. Maybe it’d been shameful to admit that his focus had progressively shifted since the other had landed in his arms. 

Too enveloped in his own mind, his foot swept out from under him. A kick to his heels, he fell backward, a sneer just above him as the harsh thud of wooden floors never met him. 

What a bastard. “You—”

“Kicked your feet out,” Bachira shone. At least he was honest, and for that fact, quite blunt. Isagi’d started to wonder if he was consciously ill-socialized— but he took a liking to that, matched with the playful attitude. Within-the-box thinking was such a bore.

Gold eyes burned holes in the other’s inhibition, each taunt returned with a touch more confidence in his moves. Bachira’d stopped leading alone some time ago, Isagi’s own fire stoked with each prod from the monster. For as much as he was a rule-follower, it was clear— there was an ego buried beneath that front, simply never allowed to breathe. 

And by God, was Bachira one to fan the flames; even if they’d become explosive. 

Isagi beared intense pressure into his heels, lifting himself up with precarious footfall with pants hidden beneath hardly-parted lips. The challenge presented by such an eccentric dancer only fueled egoistic behavior, determined to match— no, that wasn’t enough; devour — his partner, to chew him up and spit him back out so long as he’d resurrect better again and again. 

Does that even make sense? Did it need to make sense? At least, to anyone but them?

Someone so attuned to their own ego like Bachira could read the scrawl of arrogance in just half a second.

Tight grip tugged at the monster’s hands, lacing fingers in an instant as eyes widened, stupefied. A wicked grin twisted Bachira’s lips, canines dragging against the soft skin of his bottom lip in an anticipation for Isagi’s explosive reaction. Dragged back, he launched into Isagi’s arm, dipped just to the brink of hitting the solid floor before being thrown back into movement and spun on an axis. Heavy pants preceded sincere smiles as the two met, painted nails fidgeting against the hands of their partners as their breath mingled within just an inch of each others’ face. They dared not feed the flicker that led their eyes astray to parted lips, a certain level of intimacy begging to be achieved with the intensity of their movement and the conveining of their thought processes — so focused on the moment, acting of pure reflex, that they’d not paid any attention to their partner’s identical lingering thoughts. 

Their footsteps careened along with the rhythmic thumps of the beat, shifting regularly but never throwing the couple off-pace. Seamless transitions from swift movements to tender, patient steps would have normally caught either of the two off-guard, surprised in their own capability, had it not been for the distraction that was their competition. 

For a moment, he’d thought, competition was an odd word to use — the goal was to create partners, was it not? Partners, a designated duo that could only flourish with the proper preparation, with staying in-line and in-rule of the other’s limitations and following a script designated by them both.

No script followed their moves, but oddly, they met at the crossroads of perfection together. Their formula made zero sense, didn’t line up; was it supposed to? Was everything about dance supposed to be so formulaic, so proper?

No, the monologue spat out Isagi’s perturbed thoughts, the ones he struggled to accept on his own accord. That’s where you failed— there’s no enjoyment this way.

Fuck the rulebook. This is my version of dance. 

His gaze flickered off of the movements he made, up to the face of his partner, flushed with fervor and a passion that hung in the air. His yellow bangs were still mostly tied up, free strands feathering across a sweat-glistened face and across lashes that fluttered shut with bliss. It’s as if he could feel Isagi’s admiration, and when eyes opened up to meet his own, they burned with a fury even stronger than before— moreso, it’d felt like his previous fire held deep in his soul had reached new possibilities, a new chemical in the mix creating a catastrophic, beautiful explosion.

The version I perform with my monster.

A final spin launched Isagi into a slide, grip digging into the ground to catch himself. His arm desperately outstretched to reach his partner, the silence highlighting the way Bachira squeezed onto his hand, as if emotional at the concept of letting go. The gentle yet secure grip left Isagi with a lump in his throat, swallowing down emotions that bubbled up deep within. 

Maybe the whirling footsteps weren’t the only reason his head spun, the fast-paced footfall not the reason his heart raced with freshly-ignited ferocity. His stomach turned upside-down when Bachira pulled him back up, and he stumbled, the shorter’s foot trampling the taller’s as he steadied him in his arms.

Maybe it’d been the thrum of his heart that’d prevented the realization — the fact that the music stopped, speakers silenced as the crowd surrounding them was no longer. The flood of faces previously observing them had thinned all to none, the sharp whine of a shifting screen not enough to draw them apart. Their footsteps had sounded loud on their own, tuned-in to themselves, no, to each other. Bachira giggled, awkward enjoyment hidden beneath hot air, and the vibrations of his partner’s laughter pressed against his chest only made it harder for Isagi to still his heart. They didn’t dare discuss their inability to pry their eyes off of each other as the speakers rattled with a voice painfully familiar.

“Time’s up, you unmolded lumps of coal.” His tone was hoarse, and the two wouldn’t doubt he’d been screaming at them to stop. It couldn’t have been long, or he’d have sent the red-headed girl in– what was her name? “Anri”? 

The blunt-banged planner leaned back, likely still seated in an unpictured computer chair, filtered out by the camera in place of shoddy backdrop graphics. His lanky arms folded behind his head, a deep groan escaping him as if he’d exhausted himself. 

“You’ll notice we’ve removed everyone else from the room,” Ego spoke matter-of-factly, although additional words followed in a low, almost-whispering grumble.

“If you’d’ve bothered to look up, outside of your damn selves.” 

Bachira snickered, sharp canines teasing his tongue as his gaze scanned Isagi not-so-subtly, obviously playing it up. It was hard to tell how serious his out-of-pocket actions were, and the concept of legitimacy sent Isagi into turmoil; he especially didn’t want to admit his racing thoughts were far from anger-fueled.

“We’ve thinned our competitors down to the cream-of-the-crop; sad to say, most others just couldn’t keep up. Snivelish as they are, their ego never seemed to take precedent over egregious rules.” 

Isagi blinked mindlessly. How he’d nearly forgotten the competition they took part in actively was beyond him — he’d found his mind locked onto a different driving force. 

There was something more that led him further now. 

“Congratulations, unmolded lumps of coal—”

His words muffled in the background. Isagi could lip-read, had he bothered to look— had his eyes not remained on his new object of burning desire. 

The rules were no longer what drove him, they were no longer the perfection he strove for.

He watched as eyes crinkled up in excitement, Bachira’s joy beaming off his face as he turned to pull Isagi into a threateningly-tight hug. Something deep in the teen’s mind begged for the subject’s further praise and approval, but the squeeze of his muscles underneath intense strength would have to suffice. He’d have plenty of time to sort out emotions with his new goalpost—

His perfect partner, Bachira. His monster.

Isagi paid no attention to the competition’s close, aside from his success alongside his other, the prospect of a future they were destined to chase together. He’d expected his heart to slow when stakes were gone, but it’d kept intensity even long after. Enveloped in sheets that night, he was near-restless, a constant replay of the day looping in his thoughts. Ironically, he couldn’t seem to remember a single dance move, a single strain of steps he’d taken to achieve his goal— all that remained was reflex and invigoration flowing through veins, newfound fervor he couldn’t explain at the presence of the monster met today. 

His face softened into a smile. This is the version of dance he’d craved.

════════════════

[labyrinth-runner]

If you are currently taking prompts could you please write me something along the lines of Padmé being overwhelmed by the twins and Obi-Wan being there for her? It would be greatly appreciated. signed, a tired parent

Okay. This is a little shorter than I would have liked, but I'm at school this week and I really wanted to finish this but this is all the squirrel brain could produce between classes.

Padmé was frazzled. When she had decided to raise the twins on Tatooine so that they would be closer to their aunt and uncle, she thought she was making the best choice. After all, no one would look for her on a desert planet when she was made for the temperate planets like Naboo. 

She was made for temperate planets like Naboo.

It was a harsh fact that bombarded her day in and day out. Her curly hair hated the humidity of Tatooine, and her skin hated the dry, rough sand even more. It was everywhere. It stuck to her clothes, was under her fingernails no matter how hard she scrubbed. No matter how many times she swept, it would still coat the floor of the hut that she shared with Obi-Wan.

Obi-Wan.

He was the only person that made the drastic change of pace of her new life bearable. But, he still wasn't there all the time. No, he had to work to support the four of them. That left her alone with the two tornados that were her twins. When Luke wasn't crying, Leia was having a tantrum over not getting her way. She missed when they were newborns and looked at her as if she were the sun. Now, they looked at her as if she would burn them. She wouldn't. She loved the twins, but they drove her insane sometimes, always getting into trouble the moment she turned her back to do something for herself.

Padmé bounced on the balls of her feet, Luke strapped to her back, Leia cradled against her chest as she tried to soothe them to sleep. She paced the floor of their home, one might mistake her jaunty movements for dancing.

Dancing.

She missed dancing. She caught a glimpse of herself in the hall mirror and froze. Did she really look like that? Her hand gently reached up to trace down her jaw as she took in her appearance. Her hair was unruly. Dark circles framed her eyes. Her clothes were wrinkled and stained with leftovers from the twins' lunch. She cast a glance around the hut. It was a mess. Toys were strewn across the floor. Clothes were in piles. And the sand.

Padmé wanted to scream. This wasn't what her life was supposed to be like. She wasn't supposed to be alone on a speck of sand with two children. She wasn't prepared for this life. She was used to action and politics and not feeling idle. That was the worst part for her, feeling idle. She loved her children, but looking in that mirror, Padmé realized that she'd lost herself along the way.

"Who even am I?" she whispered to herself. It was those four words that held all the weight in the galaxy. It was those four words that made her wonder where her life had taken a wrong turn. It was those four words that broke her.

That was how Obi-Wan found her when he came home, standing still, children clutched to her while she and the twins cried in unison.

"Darling, Darling what is it?" he asked, pulling her into his chest. He placed a sweet kiss on her forehead.

"I don't know who I am anymore," she sobbed against his neck.

He sighed, stroking her hair as he held her. "Let me put the twins to bed and then we'll talk."

They weren't fussy for him. Something about his presence calmed them as he gently took them from their mother and coaxed them into sleep. Then, it was time for him to take care of their mother.

He took her by the hand and led her to the bathroom. She watched as he ran her a bath, gesturing for her to get into the warm soak when it reached a decent height.

She averted her gaze, fumbling with her clothes. She didn't want to look at him. Didn't want to see him judge her for how she looked.

But he didn't judge her. He simply held his hand out for her to take as she lowered herself into the tub.

They were silent for a long while. Obi-Wan rolled up his sleeves and washed her hair, massaging her scalp as he washed the sand out of her brown locks.

"I know how you feel." He finally said. His words were soft as he rinsed out the soap. "I spent all my life being a Jedi, and now there's no order and I'm no longer a Jedi, not truly. But, with change comes new roles. I may not be a Jedi, but I'm now a father. I may have lost the Order, but I've gained a family." He gently tipped her face towards him. "I've become a husband."

"I know how to write a bill, and I know how to persuade people to join my side, but being a mother..." Padmé shook her head, swallowing the lump in her throat. "It's so much harder. They don't sleep. They're stubborn."

"If I recall, you rarely slept, and you are the most stubborn woman I know," he teased.

She shot him a look.

He held up his hands in defense. "All I'm saying is that you may not be a Senator, but you know all about dealing with unruly people. Mothers deal with unruly children. I'm sure you're doing much better than you think. The twins want for nothing. You feed them, dress them, bathe them. And of course you love them. There's no perfect mother, Padmé, but you have to take care of yourself before you take care of them."

Padmé leaned back in the tub. "I just used to be so much more."

"You are everything to this family. How much more is there to be?" He kissed her forehead. She leaned into him.

"What will they think when they learn that I was a beautiful, brave Senator and I gave that up to be a nobody that does nothing?" The water was getting cold. She pulled back, standing to wrap herself in the towel that Obi-Wan held up for her.

"They'll know that you are a beautiful, brave mother who sacrificed things that were near and dear to her for two people who have become nearer and dearer to her," he insisted. "Besides, you talk as if all of those days are behind you. The future is always in motion. When the twins are older, you won't be nearly as consumed with their care. You could always get back into things. The galaxy will always need people like you."

Padmé stepped back into their bedroom, her gaze softening on the two cribs in the corner. "I don't regret it. I just wish that they could grow up the way I wanted them to."

"I know, Darling." He rested a firm hand on her shoulder.

"They have everything they need, though," she admitted.

"Oh?"

"They've got love. They'l be just fine."

[littlemisspascal]

Death and an Angel part 11

Death!Din x Cupid F!Reader

Summary:  “When we get out of here, Din will fly us far, far away,” you murmur, just loud enough to be heard over the sound of the baby's resumed chewing. “I promise you we’ll be happy together.”

Rating: T

Word Count: 3,511

Warnings: captured reader, angst, bonding with Grogu, plot plot plot

Author Note: To anyone and everyone sticking with this series, I love you so much! I know the plot is more than a little thick right now, but answers are slowly but surely being revealed. 

Links to Part 1 and Part 10 and Part 12

Cross-posted on AO3.

Photo Inspiration:

You pace the length of the cell, brow furrowed as you try to organize your racing thoughts. Between the chilly atmosphere and the severed bond wailing for its other half, you imagine you outwardly resemble the jittery and unbalanced mess you feel internally. You refuse to feel humiliated by your appearance, not when the witnesses are Gideon and his minions. They can think what they want about you, believe they have broken your spirit, because that just means they won’t expect it when you free yourself until it’s too late.

However, part two of your plan of escape is proving to be more challenging to conceptualize than you initially thought. The collar is tightly wound around your neck to the point of chafing. Apparently the rule of being able to slip two fingers under a collar is only applicable to animals in Gideon’s eyes because your attempt of slipping your finger between skin and metal is dissuaded by another electric shock zipping through your body.

However, as you lightly trail your fingertips over the cold metal, you’re surprised to feel a noticeable dip in the back. It’s not a design flaw, you think as you try to visualize it in your mind. Your heartbeat quickens as realization strikes: it’s a keyhole.

Any excitement you might feel at your discovery is spoiled by the fact a keyhole is useless without a key. You look at the laser gate, further disappointed as you contemplate the complexity of the tunnel system. There could be dozens of cells down here, potentially thousands of hiding places for Gideon to keep the key to the collar secure. Not to mention, you don’t even know what the key looks like. It could be hanging right outside the cell and you’d have no idea.

Lost in the sea of disparaging thoughts, you don’t notice the return of the baby crawling through the hole in the wall until he latches onto your foot. Startled, you barely manage to refrain from shouting a curse as you stare down at him. He giggles, clearly amused by your wide-eyed expression, and then slaps a silver plastic bag against your shin using the hand that isn’t gripping his favorite black cloth.

“Did you bring me a present?” you ask, taking a seat on the pallet and lifting him up onto your lap. This time when you reach forward, he willingly lets you take the item from him instead of trying to take a chunk out of your hand.

You tear open the plastic, revealing its contents to be five teal-colored cookies.

“Wow, bud,” you murmur, holding one up between pinched fingers. The treat smells distinctively like vanilla. From what you’ve witnessed, you doubt Gideon is the type to offer his prisoners dessert with their meals which means these were probably stolen from somewhere. “Where did you find these?”

The baby only babbles unintelligibly in response, gesturing with his free hand in the direction of somewhere beyond the laser gate. You nod along, feigning understanding, but your eyes can’t help but drift to his collar when he turns his head. The keyhole for his collar is smaller than you expect to see which has you quickly theorizing there is not one universal key for all of the collars. If that theory is true, then it raises the difficulty of escaping yet another level.

With a sigh you cram the cookie into your mouth, finding the tiniest smidge of joy in its crunchiness.

“When we get out of here I’ll buy you a dozen boxes of these,” you tell him once you’ve swallowed, offering him one of the cookies. He coos excitedly and takes a large bite, uncaring of the blue crumbs that rain down upon his coat. “And once Din sees you, I bet he’ll want to spoil you rotten, too. He has a not-so-secret soft spot for kids.”

The baby’s head tilts, reacting to the name-drop by making a confused gurgling sound around his mouthful.

“Don’t talk with food in your mouth,” you scold gently, tapping his nose with your finger and laughing under your breath when it proceeds to scrunch up in an adorable manner. Leaning your head back against the wall, you’re unable to keep the note of wistful longing out of your voice as you explain, “Din is my soulmate. To the rest of the world, he’s known as Death. They’ll have you believe he’s someone to be feared and avoided at all cost. But luckily I’m here to tell you the truth.”

He stares up at you, snack seemingly forgotten in favor of listening intently to every word coming out of your mouth. Distantly you think you should be a little scared by how intense his gaze is, as if he’s attempting to look past your skin to the soul beneath, but you remind yourself all babies are innately curious and don’t know it’s rude to stare.

“He’ll never admit to it himself, but underneath all that beskar armor, he is the most socially inept being in the galaxy. I swear, bud, the first time I met him I thought it was impossible for him to say more than two words or else he’d hurt himself.” Your lips twitch at the memory, the smallest of smiles you can make without it feeling forced. “Still, despite his horrible first impression, I couldn’t get him off my mind. I wouldn’t call it love at first sight, but—look, I know how crazy this sounds, okay? But I felt like I had to get to know him better. There was this voice in my head insisting we couldn’t just remain strangers. It took about ten thousand questions and three more meetings for me to earn his trust enough for him to take off his helmet and let me see his face.”

You take a deep breath and stroke your finger over the baby’s ears, needing to feel something other than the flaring pulse of pain from the bond. “One look at those beautiful brown eyes and I was done for.”

Saying Din’s eyes are brown feels sinful. It’s like saying the ocean is blue—accurate, but not detailed enough to describe its depth and volatility. There are days when his eyes are the shade of brown reminding you of leather bound journals—ancient and full of profound wisdom, meant to be admired and cherished for an entire lifetime. Other times, they are the kind of brown that matches your favorite chocolate pastry from the bakery down the street from your apartment—decadent and warm with the slightest hint of temptation.

“When we get out of here, Din will fly us far, far away,” you murmur, just loud enough to be heard over the sound of the baby's resumed chewing. “I promise you we’ll all be happy together.”

And I’ll never get tired of seeing those brown eyes everyday.

~~

The hours start to bleed into one another. The baby snoozes in your lap, head pillowed on your thigh, but you have no idea if it’s night or day. Gideon had said he’d let you talk to Din ‘tomorrow’, but that doesn’t tell you how many days you’ve been here in total.

Your legs have started to feel numb from sitting in the same position so long, but the last thing you want is to wake him up by moving. The importance of him feeling safe enough to be vulnerable and sleep is not lost on you. His desire for attention and physical contact is so painfully obvious you hate thinking about how often he must have been ignored before your arrival.

As he sleeps, you’re unable to resist your curiosity any longer and carefully maneuver the piece of cloth out of his grip. Despite its aged and dirty appearance, it is still surprisingly soft to touch. Whatever article of clothing this was torn from must have been well-tailored, you think, imagining a hooded cloak or perhaps a long coat. Your nose twitches when you hold the cloth close to your face to better study it, reacting to the variety of odors embedded in the wool fibers. Maker knows how long the kid’s been dragging the fabric around with him without it being washed regularly, so you shouldn’t be surprised it has absorbed a couple dozen scents.

Still, the faint essence of smoke you detect swirls around in your brain even long after you’ve laid the cloth back over him like a makeshift blanket. Memories of your death start to resurface again despite your best mental efforts to push them away, causing your stomach to clench with nausea as you recall the horrific stench of charred remains.

It isn’t the same, you tell yourself, squeezing your eyes shut and forcing your head to clear itself. It can’t be because that day was fifty years ago and he’s only just a baby.

You repeat these thoughts like a mantra until, without meaning to, you fall into a dreamless sleep.

~~

You’re startled awake by hands seizing hold of your arms and pulling you up onto your feet without warning. You yelp at the sudden rush back to consciousness, brain scrambling to make sense of everything. Your eyes sweep the ground, panic washing over you like a bucket of cold water when you fail to see a tiny green body.

“It’s time, pet,” the twi’lek’s voice hits your ears and you turn to see her standing near the cell’s entrance, a lantern in one hand and a shiny blade in the other. “The Moff is expecting you.”

It takes you a minute to process in your frazzled state, but you realize it must be time to talk to Din. You’re shoved forward by whoever has your arms twisted behind your back, but you manage another quick survey of the cell. There is no sign the baby was ever here and you send a quick prayer to the Maker he had snuck back through the hole without anyone seeing him.

You have mixed feelings about not being blindfolded as you’re led through the underground labyrinth. On one hand, you get to observe everything and everyone you come across, making as many mental notes to flip through later when you’re alone. On the other, you think this must be an intimidation tactic. Gideon wants you to see everything so you know with absolute certainty how high the odds are stacked against you.

There are cells identical in appearance to yours on either side of you, carved into the tunnel rock and blocked from entry by laser gates. Except not one of them contains a prisoner. Either you have severely overestimated the size of Gideon’s collection, or he is purposefully keeping you separate from the rest for reasons known only to him.

Another surprising and unsettling observation you make is how many different types of species Gideon has employed as minions—human, rodian, trandoshan, you even spot a devaronian in the mix. Except for the Cupid twi’lek in front of you, everyone you come across is mortal. It does not make much sense to you why a seraph as powerful as Gideon is relying on mortal henchmen to help maintain control of his secret prison. Your gut instinct is insisting you’re missing a vital piece of information and you don’t like being in the dark about it.

The tunnel you’re being marched down eventually opens up into a larger cavernous space with several dozen lanterns hanging along the walls providing ample lighting. There are several crates spread about the area, and some have been pried open to reveal they are packed full of blasters and ammunition. You rack your brain trying to determine the purpose of the weapons. Yes, clearly, they are meant to cause havoc and destruction, but why are they here? Who or what is the target they will be aimed at?

Gideon stands in the middle of the room next to an empty chair. On his other side is a mortal human male, bald-headed with ginger facial scruff, who has two blaster pistols holstered around his chest and yet another one held by a droid arm attached to his backpack. Overkill much?

You’re shoved in the direction of the chair and gruffly told to sit. Huffing, you wordlessly obey and try not to squirm as all eyes lock onto you as if you’re going to perform a trick for their entertainment.

“You have a minute to record your message,” Gideon says, holding out a piece of paper towards you. “These words I have prepared must be included in those precious sixty seconds or you might find me reluctant to allow you to send a second recording.”

Is he serious? This isn’t the arrangement you previously discussed with him.

“Record?” you repeat, reluctantly taking the paper.

“I never said you would have the opportunity of speaking to Death face-to-face.” You want more than anything to tear the condescending smirk off his face with your fingernails. “Absence makes the heart grow fonder, isn’t that the mortal saying? You would know better than me, living amongst them in that quaint little apartment on Umbriel.”

Of course he knows about your home. Of kriffing course he does.

Heartbeat quickening, you avoid eye contact by scanning the few lines of words he’s written, eyebrows slowly inching up your forehead the more you read. “I don’t understand. This isn’t a demand to kill anyone. What does it mean?”

“Now is not the time for you to know,” he answers cryptically.

You shake your head, insisting, “Well maybe it should be. He knows me better than anyone. He’ll be able to tell I’m confused and—“

Gideon’s heavy sigh interrupts you. Then, quicker than you anticipate, he steps to the side of you and unsheathes his sword, its black blade positioned at your throat. It happens in one fluid movement, and the danger of your current predicament doesn’t sink in until the frightening humming notes of the weapon register in your eardrums seconds later. Your expressionless mask wavers, facial muscles tightening as you fail to refrain from flinching.

“All that is required from you, Cupid 1-1-7, is for you to speak from the heart and convince him to follow this one instruction. Do you think you can accomplish that?” he asks the question as if you have an actual choice. Like you can walk away now and there will be no hurt feelings.

But that is ridiculous. Everyone knows Cupids don’t get to have choices. Not when they are only given orders to obey.

You give him the tiniest of nods, careful not to let your skin make contact with the blade. “Yes, sir.”

“Then let’s begin.”

~~

The nav computer on the Razor Crest contains the coordinates of every moon and planet within each region of the galaxy. There is not one inch of space unknown to Din and yet his search for his angel continues to remain unsuccessful. He doesn’t consider the possibility of her being deceased for even half a second. As her soulmate he would have felt her passing the moment it happened. The bond he shares with his angel might be young and fragile still, but he doesn’t doubt her loss would eviscerate him in the same merciless manner he had done to Hess.

His inability to find her can only mean a powerful immortal is involved in her capture. As Death he roams the universe as a neutral entity. The only enemies he encountered—and he uses that term loosely—were foolish mortals thinking they could outlive their destined time by fighting him, only to ultimately meet their fated ends in the process. Prior to Hess’ demise, he had upheld his sworn creed to the universe and never once was tempted to defy the natural order or break a sacred rule.

Although admittedly strange to consider, the thought that maybe his angel’s capture isn’t meant to deliberately hurt him or her is one that keeps crossing his mind. Perhaps they are merely pieces in a game neither of them recognize nor want to willingly participate in.

As Din sits in the pilot’s seat, staring at the screen dispassionately through the visor of his helmet still coated with Hess’ blood, he is well-aware of Bo-Katan standing behind him, attempting to freeze him solid with her iciest glare.

She is the bravest of his reapers, unafraid to piss him off and counteract his opinions with her own. Yet ever since they left Hess’ body hanging in the warehouse and returned to the Crest, she’s not said one word to him, seemingly content to suffer in silence as a background presence while he contemplates whether he should be the one to track down the twi’lek Hess referenced or if he should have his reapers engage in the hunt.

“We’re going to talk about what happened,” Bo-Katan says coolly.

He grinds his teeth. “We will talk if and when I want to.”

“No.” She forcefully pulls at his chair, turning it around to face her. A snarl escapes him, animalistic and furious, but her green eyes don’t even blink, not the least bit intimidated. “You reaped a soul before it’s destined time. The universe isn’t going to easily forgive you for that. There will be consequences.”

“The only thing that matters is getting her back,” he answers. It’s the truth too. The second his angel was taken he knew there was not one rule he wouldn’t break to have her back in his arms—consequences be damned.

“Do you even hear yourself right now?” Bo-Katan asks, looking him over as if she no longer recognizes him. Her eyes linger just a second too long on his bloodstained gloves. “You’re losing your mind over a soulmate you’ve barely known a year.”

“Have you ever had someone you loved taken from you?” Din counters.

She scowls, eyes narrowing with loathing. “How dare you compare—”

“Answer the question!” he shouts, slamming his fist down on the armrest hard enough the metal creaks ominously.

“Yes.” Her chin dips briefly towards her chest as she takes a second to compose herself. “You know I have.”

Din does know. Hours prior to every major catastrophic event in the galaxy’s history he’s felt an invisible leash wrap around him, pulling him in the direction of the tragedy and demanding he be there to personally reap the souls of the victims in the aftermath. He had witnessed the destruction of Bo-Katan’s homeworld when it was ravaged by a series of bombings orchestrated by an unknown enemy. Thousands had been killed, including Bo-Katan’s sister.

He doesn’t let the silence stretch too long, voice unwavering as he says, “And if you had the chance, would you not kill the one responsible for your pain?”

“It wouldn’t bring her back. Not any of them.”

Din sighs, glancing away, but Bo-Katan surprises him not even ten seconds later, apparently unfinished.

“I’d still do it though,” she says, not sounding the least bit guilty for admitting to hypothetical murder. “I’d carve the heart out of whoever set off those bombs and force-feed it to them.”

“We’re more alike than you may think,” Din says. “Think about that before you question my actions again.”

Any potential response from his reaper is interrupted by the beeping of an incoming transmission. He turns his chair at once, noticing the recorded message’s origin source is a random scrambling of letters and numbers. Every instinct is telling him he won’t like what he sees, but his hand reaches forward anyways, as if possessed by an unseen force, and presses the button to view the recording.

His angel appears as a holographic figure and immediately his eyes zero in on the collar around her neck. Anger threatens to course through his veins again, but Din forces his lungs to draw in a deep breath. Now is not the time to unleash his temper. Now is the time to listen and commit every word she says to memory, to study her every feature for any sign she’s been hurt.

“Death,” she begins, and his entire body tenses at the use of his title and not his name. It’s been so long since she’s addressed him as such, he knows it can’t be accidental. “I hope this message reaches you wherever you are. More than anything I wish I could be with you right now. I’m so sorry I broke my pinky promise to you, sweetheart. The way our bond is...I hate to think you’re feeling as much pain as I do.”

Din’s heart shatters when she starts to anxiously rub at her soulmate marking, sniffling quietly. His fingers itch with the overwhelming longing to hold her hand.

“I’m not safe here. What they’ve threatened to do to me...it scares me. I-I need to ask you a favor, a very important one.” A few teardrops escape the corners of her eyes and drip down her cheeks. Din bites the inside of his mouth so harshly he tastes blood. “If you want to protect me, then you must let go.”

The transmission goes dead.

Tag List: @leilei-draws​, @theocatkov​, @vintagesaph​, @stardust-and-starlight​, @adrieunor​, @remmyswritings​, @gallowsjoker​, @rhiannon-russo​, @randomness501​, @sylphene​, @softly-sad​, @maytheglitter​, @melobee​, @rogertaylorsfalsettogivesmehives​, @eleinemk​, @captain-jebi​, @aerynwrites​, @promiscuoussatan​, @stilllivindue2spite​, @coaaster​, @lin-djarin​, @oh-no-a-whovian​, @over300books​, @chibi-yuki, @becauseican2, @kay2304, @odelia-d32, @nicotinebirds

[sunlightxing]

Show Me Some Respect

After working for years as a secretary to General Hux aboard the ship, the Finalizer, life could not have been better for you.

That was until Hux informed you that Commander Kylo Ren would be joining you on that ship. Almost immediately, you both resent each other, but after being forced to spend more alone time with him, you begin to wonder, what's so bad about him after all?

Tags on A03 Include:

-Force Choking (Star Wars)

-Fluff and Smut

-Face-Fucking

-Not How the Force is Used

-Armitage Hux Needs a Hug

-Kylo Ren is an asshole

-Y/N Makes Poor Choices

-Praise Kink

-Choking

-Cum-Eating

-Orgasm Delay/Denial

-Sexual Tension

-Sexual Abuse

-Y/N Goes Through A Lot

-Murder

-Possessive Kylo Ren

-Protective Armitage Hux

-Kylo and Hux Get Along Maybe Twice

Chapter 1: Do As He Says

A dread filled morning takes you by suspense when your boss, General Hux, riddles you with nothing but fear for your first encounter with the menacing, Commander Kylo Ren.

A/N: Hello to readers here on tumblr. I’m a little new to posting original work (especially writing) on here so bear with me as I figure it all out! I hope you enjoy my first ever Kylo Ren X Reader story (I dont use y/n cause I don’t like it, my deepest apologies)

Why’d you leave us?

A faint voice called out to you in the distance, so soft and silky, daintily whispering to you. Despite the initial faintness, it slowly began to get closer and closer, its volume ever increasing.

Your eyes fluttered open, but the bright sun blinded them, causing you to seal them shut once more. Eventually, they adjusted to the light, and you opened them to see so many large, and bare trees stretching towards the sky above you. White speckles, snow, were falling all around you, some flakes even landing on your nose.

It felt oddly peaceful, the soft moss around you feeling more comfortable than your own bed. It encased around you, smothering you with warmth and comfort. You kept your eyes shut, and felt yourself seconds from falling asleep on the slightly snow-covered ground. For just a moment, your reopened your eyes, getting one more view of your surrounding before drifting off. But then, to your horror, you saw that the ground next to you was completely covered in blood.

Your eyes widened in fear as you jolted away from your spot on the ground, and pushed yourself up against a nearby tree. The voice in the distance was coming closer towards you, and kept roaring louder and louder. The blood on the ground began to expand, seeping through the moss at an alarming rate. It surrounded the entire area around you, except directly where you were sitting.

As you glanced back up at the sky, the snow, which had now transformed into an icy hail, had begun to take on an even stranger form. In its image, flashes of their faces blew past you, and with it, followed the sound of their screams and cries. Pleading for help, for you to save them. The smell of burning wood wafted into your nostrils, and that voice in the distance was still growing louder. You knew that soon, it would be upon you.

"Wake up, wake up. Please fucking wake up!"

In a jolt of cold sweats, you gasped back to reality, frantically scanning the area around you to make sure it was safe.

"Just a dream, it was just a dream."

Your breath was sporadic, leaving you a panting and anxious mess as you pulled yourself out of bed. Even the smallest movement caused a massive amount of pain surge to through your head.

"I can't take another one of those nightmares." You thought, grabbing the glass of water from your nightstand. You looked over at your clock groggily, and your heart sank upon seeing that you had overslept, giving you little to no time to prepare for the day.

The shower water was freezing when you initially turned it on, per usual. It always felt embarrassing to have to stand outside the door, completely nude, occasionally dangling your finger under the water to see if it had heated up yet.

Over 3 years ago you began working as a secretary to General Hux, and though there was a monstrous amount of glitz and glam thought to come with such a job, it couldn't have been more painfully annoying.

Sure, Hux was somewhat kind and caring towards you, but every other person you pitifully encountered treated you like shit. They'd throw their fits when you wouldn't deliver their papers, shine their boots, tasks they very easily could've done themselves, but simply refused. It wasn't the most difficult job in the world, despite the constant hazing. However, their was a shocking increase in secretaries amongst the First Order. It was most definitely due to the jobs incredible bore-ability, and the fact whoever was placed in such a position would be treated like garbage by everyone they encountered.

You rushed through your shower, only using the time to wash your hair and then yourself. The steam from the hot water had fogged your mirror, which made it hard for you to see your hair when putting it up into two long french braids. You pulled a few strands out in the front, trying to look somewhat nice since your uniform sure didn't help. It was a shapeless, olive green suit, with baggy pants, and thick, heavy boots. The hat that came along with it also wasn't very flattering, but it wasn't like anyone saw you other than your crewmates, and General Hux.

You took another swig from your cup of water as you stared out your glass window and into the infinite galaxy. Your brain decided to alert you of how Hux would be ridiculously pissed off if you were late, as today was one of the days you dreaded most of all since you began working on the Finalizer. The ship would be making its way back to Starkiller base, and you were anything but excited for that.

Several technicians raced by you, heading off to fix some malfunction in the interior of the ship. You always looked at them and wondered if they enjoyed their jobs here, or if, just like you, it was a love-hate relationship.

You entered the control room, staring the other programmers and pilots plugging away at their stations. Though they didn't technically fly the Finalizer, their work was incredibly important. You liked to think yours was important as well, but in reality, it was pointless. Technically, you were Huxs' right hand. As a result, he told you practically anything and everything. So it was more like you were a glorified therapist that followed him around like a lost pet.

"Cadet," a voice said behind you. General Hux was standing at the entrance to the control room, looking a lot more frazzled than usual. "Will you walk with me for a moment?"

You nodded, following closely behind him. Unlike usual, you decided to keep your mouth shut, hoping he would start to explain why he looked so disheveled and unnerved, but he didn't say a word. It was becoming harder to not acknowledge how his body trembled intensely with ever step he took.

"General, if I may ask, is everything alright?" You questioned sweetly, trying not to sound disrespectfully intrusive.

Hux let out a heavy sigh, stopping for a moment to rest against a nearby wall. "I am, not alright," he panted, his voice shaking more than his body was. "When we arrive at Starkiller base, you're going to have to meet The Commander, and I already know you two will not get along."

Your face recoiled as you began to dig into the back of your mind. "Did he mean Commander Ren? That stubborn brute?" You laughed to yourself, while Hux was seconds from engaging in a panic attack.

"This is no laughing matter cadet!" He hollered, his voice nearly cracking at every syllable.

You let out a long sigh. "Hux, I can deal with Kylo Ren. He doesn't scare me at all."

"He should scare you," Hux stated plainly. "My last secretary, before you. He made one simple mistake, and Ren saw to it that the poor boy was eradicated."

Your eyes grew wide with fear, darting away from his gaze so he couldn't see the horror on your face. Hux said it plain as day, if you made so much as one, small mistake, Commander Ren would personally see to it that you were eradicated as well.

Hux groaned. "We both work for the same Supreme Leader, which means I have to work with him." His breathing patterns began to grow more heavy and frantic, and his face flushed with a vibrant red.

You tried to calm him down, as you knew the ship couldn't make the entire flight back without his orders. The two of you had gotten rather close, and you had a lot of respect for him. He'd come in some days looking like he'd seen a ghost, and you wouldn't have been shocked if he had. If the Commander managed to make Hux, your boss, that anxious, you knew this couldn't be good.

After what seemed like seconds, you had arrived at your destination. Just the sight of Starkiller base sent shivers down your spine.

Sure, you'd been their plenty of times, but you never had to willingly interact with the Commander before. In fact, you'd never so much as seen the smallest fragment of his figure. Which would make his reveal all the more terrifying.

As you approached the landing bay, the large metal doors began to open to allow your entrance in. Hux came up behind you, his posture had been perfected, and all expression on his face had been wiped. He looked like a whole new man, and you weren't sure that if you wanted to get on the Commander's good side, you'd have to become a whole new woman.

"The Commander would like us both to meet with him in his quarters before he joins us onboard." Hux said, his voice shaking. You nodded as you took one more look at the hull of the control room, not sure if it was your last.

The pair of you made your way from the control room, to the landing bay. A small craft would take you from the Finalizer to the bay on Starkiller, but you wanted nothing more than just to stay put. There were ways where you could completely avoid the Commander for the entire duration he was here, you hoped. You would just have to hide in a waste bucket every time he came near Hux, and that didn't seem so bad. You groaned, glancing over at Hux as the cruiser landed rather dramatically at the center of the bay.

“Hux, he’s going to hate me, isn’t he?”

He sighed, placing an awkward arm on your shoulder, his attempt at comfort. "Let's hope it doesn't come to that."

As the pair of you walked down the long hallways of the Starkiller base, it felt as if you were walking to your doom. Which, in reality you probably were. Two stormtroopers had been sent to escort you from the ship to Commander Rens' quarters. They didn't say a word the entire trip to said quarters, despite Hux's several attempts.

Eventually, the four of you arrived at what you presumed to be the Commander's meeting room. The two troopers walked up to the door, placing a loud knock on it to signal their arrival, and then stationed themselves on either side of it. Hux took in a deep breath as he began typing into a small keypad attached to the entrance, and then, the door was open.

"Commander, my apologies on us being later than normal." Hux said, walking through the doorway to the meeting room.

"Oh Gods."

Commander Ren looked like nothing you had expected, though you couldn't really see all of him. He was tall, absolutely massive, his muscles practicality protruding from his sleeves. But his face, you couldn't see so much as an outline of that. Covering it was a thick, solid metal mask, breathing canal and all. He was a true Vader knock off.

He slowly turned around, a feeling of pure rage wafting off of him. For a brief moment, you were certain he was seconds from smashing Huxs' head in, but then he stopped dead in his tracks. His head titled from Huxs' body to your own. Though you couldn't see his facial expression underneath that mask, you new it was one of disgust.

"Who are you?" He asked, gesturing in your direction. You arched your eyebrows in confusion, could he not tell just by simply looking at your uniform?

"No answer?" Commander Ren scoffed.

"I'm his secretary, Commander," you stated, gesturing in Huxs' direction, "didn't you request my presence here? "

He shook his head, placing a hand on the front of that intimidating facial shield. The movement made it look as if he was gaining a headache from your small amount of talking. "This is who you had replace the old one?" Commander Ren hissed, "have you no shame, Hux?"

"Ren, she is very talented in her work and a fantastic secretary," Hux responded, glancing over in your direction. "She has made a fantastic replacement." You smiled, happy to know Hux would still show you some form of kindness around the Commander.

"Hux," Commander Ren stated, "I'll trust your judgment here." He approached Hux slowly, giving him ample time to make your poor General tremble in fear. The Commander stopped inches from his face, his mask nearly touching the tip of Huxs' nose.

"If she makes so much as one mistake, she's gone."

Your face recoiled in disgust. "Well, what the fuck?" You thought to yourself. Did he actually doubt your abilities that much? Or was this all some sort of twisted test of your competence?

The Commander darted his head around, glaring at you in rage. Your body went completely stiff as his masked gaze penetrated your mind. A trill of pain surged through your temples, like something was digging around in your brain for any scrap of information. "That language of hers will not be tolerated either." He spat, looking back at Hux.

"My what? The hell is he talking about? I have yet to swear!" Your brain was spiraling out of control, and that trill of energy still surged throughout your brain.

His ego was disgustingly immense, not to mention he was a delusional idiot. The fool was making up down right lies about you, and to wait gain? He was already addressing Hux in such a disrespectful manner, he didn't need to take it out on you as well. But what even gave him the right to talk down to Hux in such a manner? He wasn't in any better of a position to lead than the General was, not to mention the fact that Hux was a lot easier to deal with, and a lot less moronic.

Commander Ren stood in place, his body shaking violently with rage. Huxs' body was also shaking, but his was out of fear. This was the first time you'd ever seen Hux so threatened by anyone. Usually, he presented such a mass amount of authority and dictation. But here, he was nothing more than a coward.

The Commander gave you an over-the-shoulder glance, and in that moment, you felt time stop. The world around you faded into black. Now, only you and him were in that room, and fear and panic began to rapidly set in. Your body had turned chillingly cold, and air escaped you.

A flash of light hit your eyes, his leather glove reflecting off the overhead chandelier. Before you could get a warning out, he slammed his fist into the wall next to Huxs' head. His curled hand punctured the metal frame, sending hundreds of small electrical sparks flying, leaving bare and broken wires in its wake.

"You teach her to show me some respect, or I will" Commander Ren hissed, his clenched fist now inches from Huxs' face.

Hux folded onto the metal floor, panting uncontrollably as the Commander hovered menacingly above him. You stood gazing at the pair of them, completely motionless, gulping down the fear that was now lodged in your throat. Your pupils shook in horror at what you had just seen, how absolutely horrid your new ship companion was.

Commander Ren glared at you, watching as every inch of your body trembled at his presence. He scoffed, storming out of the room with a prompt slam of the door, the sheer force alone causing you to jump. You looked back at Hux, whose forehead was drenched in sweat, and a slight tremor was visible on his hands. Carefully, as not to frighten him more, you reached down for his hand, an effort to help guide him up off of the floor.

"General..." You pleaded, wrapping your hand around his own as you began to lift. Hux shook you away, pulling himself off of the ground, trying not to show weakness. It was obvious that he was embarrassed of your viewing of his encounter with Commander Ren, but he shouldn't have been. All that quarrel showed was the fact Commander Ren was a prissy little bitch, and tyrant.

Hux dusted off his long coat, and smoothed back his red hair to its original, kept manner. He bit his lip, holding himself back from lashing out against anything the Commander had just done. You hoped he would do it anyway, give you some sort of hint that he too hated Commander Rens guts. But instead, he stared intensely at the door, his eyes becoming bloodshot with rage.

"If you want to make it out of here alive," Hux gulped, "you must to do as he says."

You scoffed in disbelief. "Hux you cannot possibly believe that," you cried. "He isn't as high and mighty as he claims to b-"

Hux slammed his hand over your mouth, his bare fingers tracing over the lining of your lips. His eyes stared painfully into your own, showing so much fear and uncertainty. "I told you to do as he says!" He hollered, the veins in his neck protruding from his already rose colored flesh. Hux removed his hand from over your mouth, and with another brush of his cape, he was gone out the doorway too, much less dramatically than the Commander.

You turned around, looking at the meeting room remorsefully. Your life had just flipped completely upside down, and you know now that you had no say in anything that would happen to it. Hux obviously wasn't going to be any help in standing up against Commander Rens' tyranny, so it looked like you were on your own.

And you hated being on your own.

You walked back to the ship with shane covering your entire body. Every person who passed by you, whether it was a technician or a stormtrooper, seemed to be mocking you. While that wasn't at all the case, Commander Rens' doubt of your capabilities made it seem like everyone else doubted them as well.

As you turned a corner, so flustered and furious you didn't even know what planet you were on, another secretary slammed into you, spilling an incredibly hot and sticky liquid all over your uniform. "Oh my Gods, I am so sorry!" The girl whimpered, reaching for a cloth towel at her side to try and help dry you off.

You clenched your jaw tightly, worried all your rage might come flying out at her. She looked to be so incredibly overworked and stressed, just like you were about to be. You wondered if she had ever dealt with Commander Ren, or maybe her own General was just as terrible as he was, though you doubted that was humanly possible. You hated to admit it as much as the next person, but the treatment of secretaries, especially those that were female, could not have been more horrendous. Every one you had encountered had a horror story, or was currently living through one. Thankfully, your first job was with someone like Hux, a lot more patient and caring than any other. Thoughts crossed your mind of how awful your life would've been if your first job was to Commander Ren. Just the idea alone sent shivers down your spine.

The girl finally finished drying off the excess with a little help from you, but your clothes were soaked with whatever fluid she dumped onto you. Her eyes slowly began to swell up with tears as she stared at your ruined uniform.

"Hey," you said, taking her hand in your own. “There’s no need to cry. I'll go clean it myself, and it'll be good as new, don't worry."

She sniffled, reaching her other hand up to wipe the tears off of her face. Never could you have managed to snap at that girl, because you knew exactly what kind of suffering she was going through, as you had just dealt with the worst of it all. The girl hugged you in gratitude before scurrying back to wherever she came from, getting a replacement for the drink she had dropped. You took in a deep breath as you dreadfully looked down at your tarnished gown. Starkiller base was not somewhere you were familiar with, so finding a washroom was going to be far greater task than it should have been.

For what seemed like hours, you scanned each and every room across the vastness of the ship, hoping to finally find an area for you to clean off your soiled uniform. Out of the corner of your eye, you watched a stormtrooper exit a room with a fully washed, black undergarment, and you knew you had finally found your sought for destination. Rushing into the room, you hoped no one else would be inside, so you could quickly rip off your uniform and wash it without anyone seeing you in nothing but a bra and underwear.

Thankfully, no one was inside the washroom, giving you ample time to strip practically nude, and lock the door behind you as to not allow anyone to barge in.

Staring blankly at the machine that scrubbed and cleansed your attire, the chill of the empty room you sat in was beginning to sting your bare skin, your hair sticking up and goosebumps forming across every inch of it.

The process could not have taken any longer, but finally, it was washed, and ready to be moved to the next machine for drying. Minutes passed by as you sat in the cold and ever darkening room, rubbing up against the warm drying machine periodically as to not die of hypothermia.

"For God's sake, can you just hurry up!" You cried, slamming your foot against the machine, hoping that would throw it into a faster gear.

It did no good, the machine kept carrying on at its slow pace, causing nothing but agony and frustration on your part. You groaned, flopping back into the chair you had been sitting in, only for it to crumble into a hundred tiny pieces as you flopped yourself onto it.

"Mother fucker!" You groaned, lifting yourself off of the cold, metal floor. A bruise was clearly about to form upon your ass after that downfall.

"Language, cadet. That mouth will get you nowhere."

You spun around quickly, leaving your bra-covered breasts completely exposed to the eyes of Commander Ren, who now stood perfectly centered at the entrance of the washroom, the door closed behind him. Your eyes jolted to the lock that was now unfastened on the doorway, yet upon making eye contact, it clicked back into a locked position. Looking down, you noticed Commander Rens' finger was out of place from the rest of his clenched fist, and though at first you had no idea how he managed to weasel his way in here, now you did.

"The force?" You questioned in the back of your mind, watching the pointer finger retreat back to its clenched position.

His head tilted down, obviously showing his gaze had shifted from your eyes, to your almost fully naked body. You covered as much of yourself as you could, feeling completely flustered that so much of you was exposed to his eyes.

"What?" You asked. "Planning on insulting me again? Just get out."

"You're hung up on that?" He questioned, letting a small chuckle escape his throat. "I could have said so much worse."

You rolled your eyes at him, now hoping to make him so angry he would storm out like he did before. "Good for you, Commander. I'm sure you could've."

Silence reigned in the room longer than you would've preferred it to. You had hoped he would make some ridiculous, insulting statement so you could fire back at it, but he was silent.

"Do you mind?" You questioned, tilting your head towards the doorway so he could take the hint to leave.

"The ship was supposed to depart exactly 17 seconds ago," he remarked, keeping his gaze on your chest area, "Hux was going to be sent after you, if I didn't choose to."

You curled your lip sarcastically, letting out a small laugh along with it. "Well thank you so much for that, sir," you said sarcastically, again, gesturing towards the door in hopes that he would leave.

There was a long pause, giving you time to reflect on what he had just said. He would've had no knowledge your uniform had been soiled, tarnished by that poor girls dropped beverage.

So how the fuck did he know you were here?

He stood motionless. The only noise he exuded was the almost asthmatic breathing sounds from his mask. "Finish whatever task this is." Commander Ren instructed, finally moving his gaze away from your body.

He turned to the doorway, giving you a final glance before opening the door, and exiting the room. You stared at the metal frame in disbelief, the fact the Commander had just seen you in arguably your most venerable state was horrifying and embarrassing.

A slight movement on the door caught your attention, as the knob shifted back to its locked position. "Jeez, how kind of him," you scolded, turning back to the dryer that had finally finished its job, of course, right after the Commander had left.

After unlocking the door to the washroom, adorning your freshly cleaned uniform, you sprinted down the halls towards the bay. Thankfully, there wasn't a line of people standing outside the washroom waiting to use it themselves. For if they had seen the Commander in there with you, things would have just gotten so much more complicated.

You marched down the halls, now thinking about how ridiculously awkward your next several months of encounters with the Commander would be, now that your second meeting with him was when you were practically naked.

“Gods. This day cannot get any worse."

[espresso-lessdepresso]

Hello Sofi! The lovely anon

I’ve just read all your messages and seeing as you wanted to be anonymous, I’ll simply reply though here without directly replying to your ask and without disclosing your account.

 I feel like a 40 year old woman that has to sit down with her coffee and glasses to read the story her favorite writer just dropped.

Honestly, I feel very similar, in the sense that, whenever I’m writing, I’m in some alternate universe where I’m pursuing writing and am writing to publish some book of mine :] 

I’ve also read your comments beside writing and I hope you’re doing okay, it’s a tough year especially all the weird and sad situations going on that hit like a truck but remember that you followers and me are here to support you. You can talk to me about anything you need, I’ll always be here to help you, it’s the least I can do as a big fan of yours.

It has been a rough year for most if not all of us. On top of personal family issues, my writer's block and depression seem to be wombo comboing my ass for the past few months. Evident by the lack of new works on this blog as well as the second chapter of The Cage that I had promised. I really appreciate how understanding and thoughtful you are ^^ I should be back on my usual habit hopefully soon. 

And I am so thankful that you took the time to read my letter and you loved it and will save it, it meant not only the world but also the whole entire galaxy to me. I meant every word I said and will keep on sending lovely asks because you absolutely, with no shadow of a doubt, deserve them. ILY, stay safe my love and sending all good and calming vibes your way <333

Gosh, this is all so sweet I don’t know how to express how grateful I am. I truly am! Your kind and sweet messages haven’t failed to brighten my day whenever I’ve received them. THANK YOU <3

hihihii !! it’s me again, the lovely anon lol. You can call me sofi btw if you want to :D. So I’m coming with another message, sorry if they bother but I really like writing them and idk, it just feels right.

I’m very much fine with such kind messages so no need to shy away! In a way, it is nice to interact with my readers and know a bit about them and what they think about my writing. Lol, it feels less like I'm putting my writing out into the void and more like to people with similar interests and likings. 

Anywayssss, so yesterday I was listening to Conan Gray and I had this weird awakening, while listening to ‘Memories�� I remembered the dialogue you wrote, the one where the reader was left alone and GOD. I read it while listening and it fitted so well, I firmly believe you just have a way to convey so many emotions into one scene like a full on movie script and like I get this tight feeling on my chest, so sad and prominent that only REALLY GOOD STORIES make me have.

I like writing just dialogue because unlike the other proper stories, which have settings, dialogue, descriptions, etc, etc.- the reader gets to make and take away from the dialogue as much or as little as they want to. Like, sprinkle your brain glitter on it and make it as emotionally harrowing as you want ^^ 

I listened to Memories and oh my god, I did not know that there would be a song so fitting to this dialogue as this is! This song has like 90% of what my thought process consisted of when I was writing D4. This is just so wild and interesting I'm like all giddy and frazzled. And once again, thank you so much. My writing is almost always self-indulgent and with this, I’m very happy and satisfied that the emotions I was feeling were able to transfer into my writing. Please I hope you had some chocolate after the pain that my writing inflicted!!! I can’t lose my readers!!! 

If I could add and expand, the rest of the 10% that I wanted to convey into the writing of D4 was... anger accompanied by betrayal. In my mind, the ‘reader’ in D4 struggles with abandonment and attachment so being left all alone, a lot of hurt and confutation was laced into the last dialogue. 

That’s you power, absolutely incredible. I cannot stress enough about how amazing you are, seriously you’re super cool and I hope you know that whatever you come up with I just love it so much. Even the small and insignificant make such a difference for me, also you made want to pick up a story I left long forgotten before I started college. It’s just idk, you reminded me how sweet it is to step back and write something cute and warm (I’m a film student, most scripts I write are horror lmao) so thank you so much for that, hope you’re getting better everyday. Stay safe, ily and sending you all the good vibes <333

Hearing all of this motivates me so much to write and makes my brain brrr like there's no tomorrow. 

I’m glad that you’ve reconnected with your own writing <3 If you ever post your writing online, I would love to read them! I enjoy reading horror, mostly Stephen king for now (I hope to explore), so if your horror scripts are ever posted as well, link me! 

I apologise for such a late reply. I hope you are doing well! All the good vibes to you too and I hope you take care Sofi <3 !!!

I just realized I wasn’t hitting the anon button all this time 💀 now you know my secret identity

Hmm, it seems that I have spontaneously forgotten the name of your account and now your online identity will remain an absolute mystery ;] 

[what-the--curtains]

Alliance

Chapter 9 – The Hunt

(Mando x f!reader)

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Summary: After recovering you set off to find the man who tried to kill you. Killing him proves to be more difficult than expected when the ones you love are threatened, and on the other side of the choice, your own future.

Authors note: One more chapter to go!! Some angst at the end here! Hope y’all enjoy ❤️❤️❤️! (I also did some very average fan art if y’all haven’t seen it yet!)

Tw: sex is alluded to (not depicted), decapitation, force choke

Word count: 4.9k

Tagged list: @crazycookiecrumbles, @seninjakitey

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The planet proved harder to find than expected, despite Anya's best efforts, something was fogging up her tracking causing your coordinates to be constantly in flux. She’d easily lead you past the outer rim, but since then it had been akin to a wild goose chase.

“Any idea who tried to kill you.” Din asks, he'd been exceptionally patient throughout the journey thus far. Never questioning your methods just typing in the new location coordinates calmly and re aligning the ship on its new course.

“Did kill me” you correct, as your hand moves absentmindedly over the healed wound. “but no, I dont. They had a lightsaber though”

“Was it a Jedi?” he asks earnestly.

“Well based on the context clues, I'd definitely say at least Jedi adjacent” you laugh, for a savvy strategist who knew multiple languages you sometimes found yourself questioning if his brain was in fact functioning.

“Why would a Jedi try and kill you?”

“Your guess is as good as mine”

“How do they decide on colors?” He asks after a somewhat awkward silence

“Hmmm” you hum out in confusion, only half paying attention to what he had said.

“The light swords? Ashoka's are blue, yours is purple and the figures, well there's was red” your heart stops.

“It was red?” you ask, sitting up in your seat giving him your undivided attention.

“Ya does that mean something?” He watches your eyes slowly piecing together what he'd just told you.

“That’s impossible, the Sith were defeated. They died with the emperor.” you affirm, your sure red was a common colour used by Jedi nowadays, sure no one had ever seen one before, but there was a first time for everything right?

“So were the Jedi.” he points out.

“Do you always have to be right?” you ask slightly irritated for a reason you couldn’t quite explain. He doesn't respond; he knows a rhetorical question when he hears one but unsure what he had done to upset you. An uncomfortable silence lingers in the air, a sensation you'd never experienced with the Mandalorian before. Not wanting to stew in the quiet you head down to the lower levels and try and calm your frazzled mind. Sitting down you cross your legs, one over the other, as you close your eyes.

On the best of days meditating was a chore, but under the current situation it had become an impossible task. It wasn’t the threat of being ambushed that had you distracted, no something else was playing heavily on your mind. It was what was causing the punctuated silences, forced conversation and overall awkwardness in the atmosphere. It was your own doing. Seriously, who kisses a man whose face they've never seen! Idiots that's who and now it was stuck on your mind. In your defense you thought you wouldn't have to deal with the fallout so quickly. You should have known he’d have insisted on going with you, but you hadn't thought that far ahead, or at all and now you had to sit with the fact that you’d possibly ruined your comfortable friendship by planting one on him. Technically it wasn’t a real kiss,or maybe it was, how did Mandalorians kiss anyways? There you were down the rabbit hole again, this is why you couldn't focus, you curse yourself. Shaking your head you remind yourself it was only done in an attempt to get around him, a strategic move to protect the group, nothing more, nothing less. Keeping that in mind you manage to focus and you feel the galaxy's pulse emitting throughout the ship, inhaling and exhaling with the undulations around you.

Din, bored and missing the usually witty banter you offered him, decided it was time for him to clear the air in regards to the kiss. He hopes by telling you that he knew it was only done to get around him, you’d become more relaxed. The last thing he wanted was for you to be uncomfortable around him. He knew you'd never want to be with someone like him, at least in that way. As he turns around he sees you cross legged floating in the air, not wanting to interrupt he heads back up. Anya lifts her head as he re-enters, looking at him as if she knew what he was thinking. He’ll clear the air with you later, the two of you had plenty of time to talk.

You curse as your journey gets rerouted for what had to be the twelfth time in the past two days. Whoever was hunting you did not want to be found and no amount of swearing or whacking the console would change that. The closer you got to your destination the more you felt the malevolent presence grow. You found yourself wondering if it had always been with you, finding it hard to remember a time when it wasn't gnawing at your conscience. Each time you feel it scratching at your doors you remember Ashoka's words “be careful who you let into your head.” You'd made that mistake once with devastating consequences. You would not be making it again. Your energy was now primarily being spent keeping the presence at bay, not allowing it to penetrate any deeper than it already had. Sleeping only acted as an open invitation for the figure to torture you so you opted to forgo it altogether. Perhaps not the wisest decision, but what other choice did you have.

“The planet’s still a few days away.” Din says, noting the unraveled look in your eyes as you take your place next to him.

“Anything to do on this ship.” You ask, fidgeting in your seat. “like games or something” he doesn't respond “Hey beskar head! You awake under that helmet?”. You ask partially joking, partially annoyed that he wasn't talking to you.

“Yes.”

“Yes to games or yes to being awake?”

“To games” you smile, you never knew if he was actually making jokes or if you were just reading into it. The finer details of his personality artfully hidden beneath the metal exterior.

“Got Dejarik, you know how to play?” he asks, glad that you were back to yourself for the time being.

“I'm alright” you say smiling, you were better than alright, at least you think. To be fair you'd only ever played against one person and she was family and probably inclined to letting you win.

“You're cheating!” he exclaims, his annoyance apparent even through the modulator. Your skills were better than you expected especially after all those years, well either that or the Mandalorian was just that bad.

“How?” you ask, laughing at how frustrated he was getting. It was funny when you beat him the second time, but by gods it was even funnier when you beat him the seventh time.

“The force!” He says clenching his hand as he stares down at the board.

“I don't think the force bothers itself with helping me beat you at Dejarik.” you point out, as he grumbles something indistinguishable.

“Maybe you're just not as good as you think you are.” You tease pointing your finger at him eyebrows raised and a smirk plastered on your face.

“That’s not what I’ve been told,” he responds.

“About Dejarik or?” he laughs it off, but you seriously wanted to know the answer. After Cara told you he was allowed to have sex it was a question that you’d thought about a lot, more than you probably should have, but hey you were curious. Realizing the Mandalorian was now turning the game board over to see if it was rigged, you decide to change games.

“You still got that indestructible spear. The beskar one?” you ask nonchalantly.

“Yes, not something i'm planning on losing” he nods

“Fancy a match?” you offer you needed to work on your fighting skills, practicing on the air only went so far.

“Only if you promise not to slice through my ship.” He says, standing up.

“Only if you promise not to cry when I beat you.” you return causing him to scoff

“Oh im not going to be the one crying” he assures.

You stand in the ship's far corner across from Din who haphazardly twirls the spear in his hand as you open up your saber, raising it waiting for him to make the first move. He stays his ground, you and him were both defensive fighters and you knew he was far too stubborn to change his routine. Leaping forward you land in front of him, your saber making contact with the spear. After a few seconds spent testing his strength you know there's no feasible way for you to out muscle him. You'd have to out maneuver him. He’d seen you fight stronger opponents before so you’d have to think outside the box on this one. You move out from under the spear the release of your counter force causing Din to stumble forward. You turn aiming for his shin, but his arm reaches back the spear stopping your hit from connecting with his armour. You circle round him so you're once again face to face giving him enough time to stand back up. He turns quickly, swinging the spear as he does, aiming for your waist. You jump over the swipe landing behind him, hitting him in the back.

“Point to me.” you say

“No using the force” he says, turning to look down at you, his presence suddenly looming.

“I wasn't, I can just jump really high!” You lie.

“Likely story” he says brushing past you as he moves back to his starting spot

“What was that I said about crying earlier?” you question.

He's got you talking too long and he sweeps your feet out from under you knocking you on your ass and gently tapping you on the head with the spear.

“Point me” he says, offering you his hand.

“That was dirty” you say as he hoists you up.

“Who says we're playing clean sweetheart?” The term catches both of you off guard, but he's flustered himself more than you, allowing you to land the next two points.

“Hope your ego isn't too hurt darling.” you mock back at him as metal and light collide once again.

“It’s not over yet” he says, using all his strength to march you back towards the wall pinning you against it with his spear.

“You need to work on your attack, you leave a lot open” he says, breathing heavily.

“You need to work on a codpiece, it leaves a lot open” you retort, kneeing him in the groin, hard enough for him to drop you, but not so hard that it kept him down for long.

“Not enough beskar” he murmurs, hoping to get the last word in.

“Oh big brag for a man who just lost several games of Dejarik in a row and” your sentence is cut short as the spear taps the small of your back giving him the winning point

“And what?”

“Oh real classy Din, can’t win a fair fight” you say hand on your hip.

“It was fair considering I wasn't going 100%”

‘Oh you weren't” you mock, the smile telling him you were amused and not upset by his antics, the gentle slap on his arm further verifying this. The moments like this were nice, but as you continue to gain on your target they became fleeting. The Mandalorian watches as your ability to focus waivers, your frustration becoming increasingly evident in your training. Miraculously, you hadn't sliced through anything important, but the ship’s interior was constantly needing to be patched up. At least it kept him occupied and out of your hair. You looked like you were fighting a hidden battle, one he would gladly fight with you, if you'd let him. He didn’t know the full extent of your struggle, but he knew the anger he felt simmering inside you wasn't being aided by your refusal to sleep.

Your irritability, although caused by exerting tremendous energy keeping the figure at bay, was no excuse for the times you had lashed out at the Mandalorian. The most recent outburst occurred when he'd stepped on your foot after you had explicitly told him to watch out. In hindsight, threatening to melt his beskar down and turn it into a hearing aid for him so he could stop being such a nerf herder was a touch harsh. Alright, incredibly harsh especially considering he'd attempted to apologize before you went off on him.

“Sorry I threatened the beskar” you murmur sitting down next to him

“Are you going to tell me what's going on?” he asks

“Going on where” you ask

“Well it can't just be air in your head” he jokes, causing you to laugh for the first time in a few days.

“Seriously though , I'm sorry Ive been out of line, and it's not fair on you, you’ve been so understanding.”

“You know what might help with the outbursts?”

“A lecture?” you remark, your tone harsher than intended

“No, sleep, you should try it sometime”

“I'm fine without it” you say, the yawn escaping your lips contradicting your words.

“You should sleep.”

“ You don’t.” you remark hoping to catch him off guard, but he's obviously rehearsed this conversation a few times.

“ I don’t need to.”

“Neither do I.” You lie, almost a year later and you still had no idea how he slept so little, though your current working theory was that he would just take naps under the helmet when he thought he could get away with it.

“No, you can't sleep, there's a distinct difference.”

Not wanting to lash out at him for the third time that day and knowing he was right, you make a swift exit. You push the button that opens up to the tight sleeping quarters where you'd spent many hours lying awake. You were hoping that you'd reached an exhaustion point where your body would just shut down. You lay back on the bed not bothering with the covers, you weren't expecting to get comfortable. Anya had stopped trying to sleep in the same bed as you, usually getting inadvertently kicked or shoved out the bed by your constant movements. Your eyes can’t have been closed for more than a minute when they snap open. Despite their alertness your body's gone limp. What fresh hell was this? As your eyes adjust to the darkness you can only just make out the hauntingly familiar shape sitting at the edge of your bed. You go to call out for the Mandalorian, but no sound is emitted, nothing comes out at all not even air. You watch helplessly as the figure's arm extends ensnaring you in a choke hold, the yellow iris shining out beneath the hood, confirming your worst fear. A Sith. You scream yourself awake, the force causing items to fly to the ground, no doubt alerting the Mandalorian. You bring your knees to your chest grabbing at your scalp telling yourself it wasn’t real, but it didn't matter what you said. The truth was you couldn’t tell anymore all lines had blurred together. You get up off the bed looking around the room already exhausted at having to clean up yet another mess you had made. You lean over picking up the weapons that had fallen off the armoury hanging them back up when you hear the Mandalorian drop down the sound startling you.

“I'm sorry” you mutter embarrassed, not looking up as you move to grab the few dishes currently lying on the floor.

“What did I say about breaking the ship?” he says, chuckling slightly in an attempt to lighten the mood. He bends down to help you but you grab his arm stopping him.

“I made the mess. I'll clean it up.” You say gathering up the utensil and placing them back on the table absentmindedly stroking your throat as you turn to pick up the rest. As you reach for the chess board he grabs your hands, intertwining his fingers with yours, leading you back over to the bed.

“Get some rest, I'll clean up,” he says softly, sitting you down on the bed.

“Stop telling me what to do Din, besides it's not working.”

“You need to sleep.”

“I can’t and unless you can think up a way to make me then were shit out of luck.”

“I can think of a few ways.” he mumbles hoping it was loud enough for you to hear.

“Like what? Knocking me out with a blaster?” you scoff

“ A less violent way,” The words leave his mouth before he can fully assess the pros and cons of what he was offering to do.

“Reciting the entire code of conduct of the mandalore race to me?” Gods, how were you still not getting this.

“A less boring way.” He prays that you either catch on or he passes away suddenly so as to save him from any further embarrassment.

“Oh” you punctuate, lips parted slightly suddenly realizing exactly what was being offered to you “you think you can tire me out?”

“Only if you want.” he says, more confident now you hadn't outright rejected him

“Well I have been dying to see what’s under that armour”

“ You’ve seen it before”, and you couldn't wait to see it again.

“Not all of it”

“The helmet stays on,” he asserts.

“Not what I was referring to.” He stands there for a moment unsure how to proceed, not wanting to have misread the situation. “Well are you just going to stand there or are you not a man of your word?” That’s all the encouragement he needs.

“You want me to stop at any time, you just say so cyar’ika”

Once again the Mandalorian was right ; he was able to tire you out. Neither of you say anything after both at a loss for words, and not wanting to ruin the moment by saying the wrong thing. You fall asleep with his arm wrapped securely around your waist, as the other runs up and down your back. His heartbeat lulling you into a deep sleep, his presence managing to stay off any nightmares, at least for now.

He stays with you long after you’ve dozed off watching your back rise and fall in time with your breathing, he thanks the gods you were finally resting. He intently studies the faint purple markings covering your body, wondering how long they'd been there. His hand then tracing over the scars on your back, he wants to know how you got them. He wanted to know everything. Once this was all a distant memory he’d ask, if you chose to stick around that is. Knowing you won't want to find him in your bed when you wake up, he slides his arm from your waist and quietly, so as not to wake you, he puts his clothes back on. Re-donning his armour he heads back upstairs to check on the ship.

Your body shivers inadvertently at the loss of heat and your eyes slowly open. The room’s still dark, but the Mandalorian had gone. He must have left sometime in the night presumably his way of telling you it was a one off. Knowing Din to be a man of few words you knew talking about what had just happened was fully off the table. You sit up and stretch out, allowing your elbows to pop and your shoulders to crack as you roll them out, feeling a way that you hadn't felt in months. Well rested. Making your way over to the fresher you allow the water to wash over you removing any remaining scent attributed to the Mandalorian. After dressing you head up to the cockpit, slightly bow legged from the night before. You’d had your fair share of lovers and for a human, he was very well endowed and very eager to please.

“How far” you ask brushing any thoughts about last night from your head as you shoo Anya off your seat.

“You’re up sooner than I thought.” He says looking at you. He’d noticed the slight stagger in your walk causing him to smirk under the helmet, but the smile fades when you don’t look down.

“How far are we?” you ask again, picking up Anya who’s refused to move of her own volition.

“Close. About last night” he starts, wanting to make sure everything was okay, and that you weren’t regretting what had happened.

“ Look, we don’t have to talk about it. I know it wasn’t a big deal.” You say.

“It may not be a big deal for you.” you don't know why, but you take that tone as being pointed, referring specifically to your time spent in the rings.

“Why? because I've slept with half the galaxy? Something I did in order to survive an environment let’s not forget you put me in?” you spit out

“ No, I-I didn’t mean,” he starts. It's the first time you've ever heard him stumble over his words.

“ You never do.” You say, shutting him up for the remainder of the trip.

“Dropping out now.’ He says, 5 days, that's how long it had taken to get to where you were going, whoever was on the planet was committed to not being found, or at least committed to having you as sleep deprived as possible.

You step out with the Mandalorian close behind you, the planet's surface reflecting the ship's underlights back into its metal exterior. The mirrored rock had sprouted out into various forms and sharp geometric shapes, resulting in a beautiful, but sinister skyline.

“You sure this is the place? Doesn't look like any living thing could survive here.”

“Yes, I can sense a disturbance. You stay here with Anya.” you say placing a hand on his chest plate.

“No way.” Din responds

“I have to do this alone. It's too dangerous for you.”

“For me?” he says in disbelief.

“Wait here if i'm not back within the hour, leave.” You state ignoring his last question.

“ I'll give you two for good measure” he offers, holding out a blaster for you to take.

“It won't help.” You say pushing it back towards him before pulling up your hood and setting off into the unknown. Once he's sure you're out of sight, he follows you.

You close your eyes, letting your senses lead you through the sharpened planet careful not to cut yourself on the dark obsidian refelcting blurred images of the stars. A rock snaps under your foot and your eyes open. A voice calls out to you, uttering your name.

“Who are you.” you ask aloud, turning to face the cloaked figure who stands before you.

“ That is not important” he answers, lips not moving. Telepathy. So that’s how he'd gotten into your head.

“You tried to kill me I think it's at least relevant.” You return in thought.

“You came alone.” he asks, yellow eyes darting from side to side, despite the power this figure held you send a nervousness harboured deep within him, perhaps you should have brought the Mandalorian along with you.

“ Yes” you lie, hoping your force was strong enough to shield the bounty hunter.

“Good.” he snarled.

“Why did you kill me.” you ask not wanting to beat around the bush

“To see if I could. I needed to see your abilities, you’re stronger than I thought if you brought yourself back to life. The empire is rebuilding”, he offers not clearing the situation up in the least

“The empire died with Palpatine, they’re nothing but warmongering desolates now” you say shaking your head, not believing you had flown halfway across the galaxy for this.

“That’s what they have told you. We have been growing an army, led by the spirit of the emperor. We are seeking those with your abilities to help us rebuild.”

“You’ve lost your mind. The Sith were defeated long ago, the Jedi with them.” You turn to leave, no longer fearing this man, he holds no power over you.

“No” he shrieks, the sound drawing your gaze back to him, the noise frightening you slightly “You cannot leave. You cannot go. You will join us and rebuild a stronger galaxy.”

“I have no interest in joing a cult of fear and genocide.” you state calmly.

“It is more than a cult I offer you, something much better, power.” he was getting desperate, a few more days without sleep and you may have fallen for it.

“Power to what? Give you all the blood in my body so you can commit futile experiments on innocent people. You cannot create force sensitivity nor can you push it on someone who it has not chosen. Join you? No, I'll have to pass. Death and destruction will not be my path.”

“Not yet, but it will be. I see it in you, the pain, the sadness, the loneliness, that will all disappear once you join us.”

“Over my dead body” You say drawing your sabre. A violent clash of red and purple ricochet off the mirrored rock, lighting up the shadowed planets.

“Your grandmother trained you well.” He exclaims.

“ If you knew her then you should know that i'd never turn” You continue the fight. Managing to back him into a rock wall. Holding saber at his throat the light purple hue gleaning in the yellow irises beneath his hood.

“I understand why you ambushed me, not much of a fighter are you.” you snarl, pushing the saber into the robe, the scent of burning fabric filling the air. Then you feel it, the pulse of the fibers interwoven throughout the galaxy, something’s amiss. Something else appears under the glow of you saber, yellowed teeth, smiling under the light. You release him pushing yourself back, he wants you to kill him.

“ Do not fear it, I have seen this moment. It is what begins your reign”

“No” you say aloud to yourself, “No” you repeat turning off the saber and turning to leave.

“If you let me live, I kill the man with you.”

The Mandalorian whose been watching from afar hasn’t heard a word spoken in a while, watching you move towards him he thinks it must be over, whoever this person was, Sith or not, you must have come to an agreement. He almost walks out from his hiding spot when you stop dead in your tracks. He sees you look up, your eyes meeting his but only for a moment, before you pivot back to face the man.

“There’s…” you start.

“Don’t play me for a fool child, I have been playing this game long before you were even a thought in your mothers pretty little head. I know he is here. I know what you feel for him. You kill me and in time you will betray him, but you’d rather that, than lose him altogether.”

There's no thought process, no decision to make. With a flick of your wrist you throw the saber. You watch as it slices through the Siths neck before returning to your hand. You close it as his head tumbles to the ground. If Ashoka's words were a warning this, this was an omen. You had made a choice and now a path of irredeemably evil was laid before you. A path you were not prepared to drag anyone else down.

“I know you're there” you say after composing yourself. “I told you not to follow me.” You say making your way to the Mandalorians hiding spot.

“Are you alright? What did he say to you?” he asks, reaching a hand out for your arm.

“Nothing.” You say dodging him. The less he knew the safer he'd be. You weighed your options in your head on the walk back, but you knew there was only one way to avoid harming anyone. You had to hide away, become anonymous. Fall back into legend, never to be seen again. It was the only way Grogu would be safe, it was the only way Cara would be safe, it was the only way Din would be safe. As the ship takes off you say three words that would change everything.

“Take me home.”

“We're on route to Hoth now,” he says reassuringly.

“No, take me to my home. Grogu is back and safe. Our deal is done. Our alliance is over” You say, eyes plastered to the windshield.

“What did he say to you?” Din stresses, but you don’t answer. Silence was the only way to stop him from convincing you to stay.

“Don’t shut me out” he says slamming his hand on the panel. You don’t flinch, you don’t even look up. “We can figure this out together.” He says softly, if you hadn’t known any better you would have thought he was pleading with you.

“You’ve done enough. Take me home. If you don’t the force will.” He resets the GPS coordinates before standing up and dropping downstairs. Anya muzzles into you as you let out a sigh blinking back the tears you felt forming.

[saiilorstars]

The Fairy Tale Memoirs

Author’s Note: This is part of a one-shot/AU companion story to Stars Dance & Falling in Temptation that features Avalon Reynolds and the Doctor (from 9th-13th Doctor) along with other companions + Lena Reynolds.

// Current Masterlist //

taglist: @ocfairygodmother @anotherunreadblog

Ch. 3: Found

Summary: Avalon watches her daughter grow up into a teenager. She just doesn't realize that Aurora knows more than she leads on.

A/N: An AU based on the last chapter of Falling in Temptation.

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On Aurora's 100th birthday, her grandmother River brought her to Akhaten. She explained the importance of the planet as soon as they got there: Akhaten was the spot her father promised to bring her mother to. He never got the chance but it was only right that one Reynolds see it. River promised Aurora that the Doctor would want nothing more than to know that his daughter got to visit the planet.

Aurora was amazed by the different sight. She had never been off planet so she was very proud to know at least half of the species she saw. She was as fast as her father on her feet, leaving River out of breath several times. She wanted to see everything and try everything - she had inherited her father's knack for tasting everything and anything. Like Avalon, she had an attitude that put her in arguments with people several centuries older than her. River knew that she should've disapproved but the sight of seeing her little granddaughter - who was nothing more than a small child - argue the hell out of a grumpy old man was far too amusing. That was definitely all Avalon. There was one significant thing that River took great notice of in her granddaughter. What Aurora saw did not work, she talked about making it work. Whether it was a couple machines she noticed sparking or an intangible system like making lines for a shop, if it did not work then Aurora would talk about fixing it. It made River smile. That was uniquely Aurora.

"I like building things," the little girl would shrug and say each time River asked her that day why she was so focused on brainstorming ideas to fix whatever she saw wrong.

When the day finished and Aurora came home, she stayed up all night telling her mother everything she saw. Avalon let her talk throughoutthe night. The mother and daughter laid on one bed that night with Aurora rambling on and on about Akhaten. At 100, Aurora was more than aware that her lifespan would allow for centuries and centuries of potential adventures. She promised to bring her mother to Akhaten when she was older.

That brought Avalon to tears.

"I know that Daddy promised he would take you but if he doesn't ever come back, I'll take you," Aurora shifted on the bed to face her mother, a clear older version of herself.

Avalon smiled sadly. "Oh princess, that'd be nice but it's okay. I don't need to go anywhere. I'm good where I am."

"But I'm going to go one day," Aurora said with an impossibly big grin. "I'm going to go to all the places in the world! I'm going to see everything and fix whatever I can to help!"

Aurora would continue to excitedly announce the galaxies she would see one day, never knowing the fear it instilled in her mother. As much as she would love for Aurora to explore the world, Avalon couldn't let go of the fear that the Silence would capture Aurora in one of those adventures. She did not want to keep her daughter locked up but she didn't want any harm to come to her either. What would she do?

As Aurora continued to grow, she started making a list of possible places to see when she was a legitimate adult. Not even the continuous moves would affect her anymore. Avalon always put on her best supportive face whenever Aurora talked about a new place to visit. Even when River would take Aurora out somewhere completely safe, Avalon was a nervous wreck. She didn't want anything to happen to Aurora.

One hundred years turned into 200 and by that time, Aurora resembled the appearance of a young girl. From a human perspective, though, she was a teenager. Fourteen years old is what Aurora's brain scans said. She was at the beginning of her teenage-hood and while Avalon prepared herself for a troubled teenage-hood resembling her own, Aurora turned out to be the opposite.

Where Avalon was impulsive and a loud mouth, Aurora was quiet and sneaky. If she had a problem, she dealt with it discreetly. She was quick but learned quite well how to pretend to move like the other students. She learned the cues of social life and when she chose to follow them, she was a natural. Almost graceful. She was adept at pretending, something neither of her parents ever mastered. Although it pained her to think about it, Avalon felt sure that if something happened to her - if the Silence ever caught up to her and Aurora was left alone, Aurora would have enough skills to hide herself. This was Avalon's second backup plan. If the plan of River hiding Aurora fell through, Aurora could still fend for herself. It was a horrible way of thinking but it was a neccessary way too.

Aurora loved travelling so it only seemed right to believe that she would be able to handle things on her own if something happened to her mother. However, all of a sudden, Aurora seemed to drop the idea of travelling. Whether or not she still wanted to, she never said, but Avalon got the jist when Aurora started expressing a desire to go to a local university after she finished her schooling.

"I'm just saying if you would like to see a college maybe off-planet, then I would be just fine with that," Avalon would smile to her daughter as convincingly as possible.

Aurora would simply shake her head. "Nope, I'm good. I found out that there's a university with a really good engineering program in the next city. I don't need to go off planet. I can stay right here with you." She reached across the isle to grab her strawberry milkshake Avalon finished making. With no cherry on top she gladly drank from the straw.

Avalon drank from her own milkshake. "Well you still have time. Plenty of it."

Aurora shrugged. "Yeah, we'll see." She eyed the mess of papers on the edge of the isle and from a quick glance, she knew what they were. "Are you writing again?"

Avalon quickly set the papers in a neat stack. "Just the usual short stories."

"Right," Aurora kept the sour tone hidden very well. She knew the short stories were used to get them by and that the real stories her mother wrote, the full books, were never going to see the light of day.

The subtle sourness would turn into bitterness when Aurora turned 16 in human terms. By that point, she was aware of everything that went on around her. She was a competent, intelligent woman. She'd learned how to navigate on her own without her mother's knowledge.

She would make sure to come home on time even when things begged to be seen and explored. She owed her mother that much. She was a law abiding citizen and a stellar student, everything to not give her mother any worries.

Avalon was too busy looking over her shoulder to notice anything. She busied herself with keeping them hidden like always. While Aurora was at school, she would do quick trips for the groceries, trips to her job to drop off new short stories, any other miscellaneous errands and then be home long before Aurora was due home from school.

Today she was busying herself with a new short story. She had a cup of tea sitting beside her while she worked through the drafts. It was like any other day...until she heard a noise.

She rubbed her forehead, thinking it was just a trick her mind was playing. It wouldn't be the first time. She picked up her pen to keep writing but three words down and the sound wasn't going away. It was actually getting louder.

"Absolutely no way," she whispered with a hammering heart. She got out of her stool and sprinted towards the door, all the meanwhile her heart prepared to burst from her chest. "No, no, no, no, no—" She opened the door to find the Doctor on the other side.

He had the decency to be nervous. He was fidgety and since Avalon only stared at him, he had nothing else to go by.

And then suddenly, she slapped him. Hard.

"Yeah...I had that coming." The next time he met her gaze, she was blazing with fury. "Ava—"

She slapped him again. "I thought you were dead," her voice was trembling as was the rest of her body. "I thought...I didn't know what to think sometimes." The Doctor nodded silently, only listening to her for the first minutes. "I didn't know if you were still fighting the Silence or if they'd killed you...or if you'd just moved on."

"No," he spoke up as soon as she said that. "I would never be able to. I had to fight until every last Silent was gone."

Avalon stared at him with no readable expression. Her eyes were shiny but not one tear had fallen. Her frazzled brain was trying to make the connection she'd just heard. "They're gone?"

The Doctor nodded. "Yes. Every last one of them. It took me 200 years but I got them. They're not going to hurt you or your family ever again."

Avalon swallowed hard. They're gone. Her mind raced with thoughts and a whirlwind of feelings. They'regonethey'regone. Her legs buckled.

The Doctor reached forwards to catch her as she collapsed. She fell against his chest and instead of pushing him away, she retreated into him. Her eyes squeezed shut.

"They're gone, they're really gone?" She sniffed.

The Doctor wrapped his arms around her body. "Yes, I promise. I'm so sorry it took me this long. I know you must be angry with me."

Avalon pulled away suddenly, her eyes flickering to the TARDIS sitting in her front garden. She shook her head and pulled him inside. She had no idea what she was doing but for now, they needed to be inside. She made a conscious quick zip through the living room — there were pictures in there that she wasn't ready to explain — into the kitchen.

"How did you find me?" she asked. She let go of his arm once they were in the kitchen.

"There was a sudden read of vortex energy," the Doctor said distractedly. He was studying the kitchen and found it to be quite normal. He always pictured Avalon living extravagantly. There was a white isle in the middle of the room with a matching white counter behind. Odd mugs lined the wall on the left side of the sink. He eyed some strange princess plates in the dish dryer.

"Vortex energy?" Avalon frowned. "I...I think I would've noticed if I suddenly leaked Vortex energy."

"Uh, the energy signatures were clear. It was brief and spontaneous but high enough for the TARDIS to sense it. She was adamant we come here." His eyes eventually found the papers on the isle. "You're writing," he smiled and met her gaze. "Do you write books now?"

Avalon's shake of head was nervous. "N-no."

The Doctor raised an eyebrow at her. There was no reason to be nervous with him. If anything, she should be angry with him. That's what he prepared himself for when he caught the reading of the vortex. He knew it had to have been her so he gathered the courage to come find her. But she wasn't angry. She was just...like that.

"It's been nearly 250 years for me," she said quietly.

"I'm so sorry," he sighed. "I swear I didn't want anything like this to happen. I didn't want to leave you. I love you. I never wanted to hurt you."

Once more, instead of being reproached with anger, Avalon took it all with a few shaky nods. "I understand." Because she literally understood his reasoning. She'd done the same.

"Really?" The Doctor knew that he could take the easy win but something about Avalon's eerie calm attitude unsettled him. He took a few steps towards her until she was locked between him and the counter. He looked into her eyes, her sweet blue eyes that he'd missed so much, and searched for any clue of what she was hiding.

"Why did you come back?" she asked. She was aware of how close they were.

His hands moved to rest on either side of her on the counter. He leaned down enough so that when he answered, she would feel his breath. "Because you're my Ava." His words caused a ripple of warmth over her chest. "I had to at least try to win you back. Am I too late? Is there someone else?"

If she wasn't so shaken, she would've laughed in his face. How could there ever be someone else? "I've been on my own."

"No," he said suddenly, pulling away from her to head for the sink.

Avalon blinked. "What?"

"You said you've been on your own but that's not true." He started pointing at the line of mugs and then the dishes in the sink. "There's too much stuff around for just one person. Someone else lives here..." He met Avalon's gaze, her nervous gaze. "Don't they?"

~0~

Aurora walked down the street of her home. She was carrying a few books in her arms that she was trying to put away into her bookbag. She didn't need her mother finding out what she was doing. It would end with the grounding of a life time.

She was stuffing the last of her books into her bag when she came into her front garden and saw a bright blue box standing there. Her book fell to the ground.

She rushed up to the blue box and touched the police sign. "You wouldn't happen to be...?"

One of the doors creaked open. Aurora stepped back and watched as the other door opened for her. The soft orange glow slowly brought her in.

"O-oh..." She had stepped inside to see the console room. It was a bright orange, just like her mother had said. It was shiny with glass floors and those odd circles on the walls just like her mother had said.

Aurora swallowed down as she carefully made her way towards the console. Her hand gingerly brushed over the controls. "It's really you..." She breathed in.

Suddenly, a hum rose from the center. Aurora jumped back but after a few more hums she realized what it was.

"You're the TARDIS. You...you let me in," she glanced at the open doors. "Do you know who I am?" She remembered her mother saying the TARDIS could open and close her doors at her will. She chose who to let in, including the Doctor himself.

Oh my God, the Doctor.

Aurora's eyes widened. "He's here," she whispered. She heard another hum. "Listen, I'm...I'm Aurora. You're my..." she languidly pointed at the time rotor, "...my grandmother. And-and the Doctor...he's my..."

The TARDIS hummed rather sadly. Aurora was sure that it was a sad hum. She always asked her mother how she knew what type of hums the TARDIS gave. Avalon would simply say that she just knew. Aurora would snort. Turns out her mother was right.

Her thoughts were interrupted when a song started playing. It took her only a second to realize what it was. She laughed.

"Very funny." She folded her arms as Once Upon a Dream continued to play. "You should know that my favorite princess is Mulan." She smiled to herself as she started making a round on the console. "I too stood out." She stopped when she spotted a couple of things hanging out from a drawer underneath. She bent down and saw some miscellaneous things inside. A cellphone, a ball of yarn, a keychain, a magnifying glass and a stethoscope. She pulled out the stethoscope and played with it. "You wouldn't happen to know where he is, right?"

The TARDIS hummed dutifully.

Aurora smiled smugly. "Yeah, I ask questions even though I already know the answers. Does he do that too?" Yet another question she already knew the answer to.

~0~

He had no right to demand any answers from Avalon. He chose to leave which meant she had every right to move on. So why was he still standing in her kitchen when it was so clear that someone else lived with her now?

Avalon felt her tongue was literally twisted. She couldn't come out and say the truth even when he asked her directly...and more than once.

"Ava, if you want me to leave, I'll do it," the Doctor said, holding back his sigh. "I never meant to hurt you. I just wanted to keep you safe." He ducked his head and left the room.

"Doctor, wait!" Avalon hurried after him. "I-I don't know how to say it—" She abruptly crashed into his back.

He'd felt a buzz in his pocket and pulled out his sonic to see it whirring alive. "What the...?" He checked the readings and soon knew what it was. He spun around to face Avalon. "Someone's in my TARDIS." He saw a visible trace of fear in her eyes. She knew. "Who's in my TARDIS?"

Avalon's eyes flickered to the clock on the wall. She gulped.

The Doctor didn't wait for her to answer. He turned away and hurried for the door.

"Doctor!" Avalon once again chased after him.

The Doctor flung the door open to run out and catch whoever was trying to mess with his TARDIS. He found a young girl with long ginger hair. She was of average height and wore a simple dark blue button up shirt with a brown cardigan and black jeans. Though her hair was in neat, casual waves, there was something oddly familiar about it. Her eyes were a nice green shade. Familiar too.

The Doctor raised an eyebrow at the girl, warranting some explanation of her presence and much more about her intrusion in the TARDIS. Instead of seeming nervous or even scared, she simply held out his stethoscope to him.

"She just let me in...like she knew even before..." she said, still sounding like she was in awe. Her expression certainly said she was.

"Aurora," Avalon breathed in. Tears were shining in her eyes.

"It's okay Mum," Aurora studied the Doctor's immediate reaction to her word. "I'm okay." Her hearts may be threatening to stop beating altogether but she was fine. Since the Doctor was frozen to his spot, she had to nod at him to take the stethoscope from her. When he still did nothing, her lips curved into a smirk. "Scared?"

It was like he was seeing Avalon in front of him. A challenger. He looked back at Avalon who couldn't string two words together. She brought her hand up to her mouth and cried behind it.

"Mum, it's okay," Aurora reiterated, offering her mother a kind smile. "I'm not upset. None of it is your fault." Her eyes locked with the Doctor again. "I want to talk to him, if that's alright...?"

The Doctor had no choice but to nod. Avalon turned away and hurried into the house. Aurora truly didn't seem fazed by her mother's behavior. She had come to terms with the reality of their situation a long time ago which left her plenty of time to plan for this moment.

"You are...?" the Doctor started when Aurora forced the stethoscope into his hand. She pushed her hair behind her shoulders and motioned him to use the stethoscope on her.

"You need to do that first," she ordered.

The Doctor silently did that. He put on the stethoscope and readied it, all in the meanwhile of holding Aurora's stare. He gingerly pressed the end of the stethoscope to her chest and heard one heartbeat. Strong and healthy.

Just as he was about to pull it away, she spoke up. "Your left."

He gave her a look but her eyes left no room for such discussion to be made. He moved the diaphragm to her left and heard the second heartbeat. She almost laughed at his reaction.

"Hi Dad," she said calmly instead, if only to see how he would react to that too.

"You're...?" He was essentially left without air. He looked her over from head to toe until he rested on her eyes once again. His eyes.

She raised an eyebrow at him. "You're late." Her mother's words right out of her lips.

The Doctor swallowed hard as he yanked the stethoscope out of his ears. "You're my...you're..."

Aurora raised a hand to shake with his. "Aurora Leigh Reynolds," she introduced herself with a much less playful tone. "Though to the people in this area, it's Aurora Smith."

With a trembling hand, the Doctor took Aurora's to shake. As soon as their hands connected, he felt a jolt kickstart his entire system. His daughter. "You're my daughter," he said, heaving a heavy sigh. "I...how could I not know...?"

"Because Mum did a very good job of hiding me from the Silence," Aurora's knowledge about the order froze the Doctor. Her eyes flickered past him to the open door behind them. "Mum doesn't know that I know, but I wouldn't be her daughter — and yours — if I didn't go searching for answers. She used to tell me that the reason we moved a lot was because she wanted to see cities. I believed her as a kid but then I started to realize that she didn't move because of her, she moved us because of me. I'm too much of a freak not to be noticed—"

That damn word continued to be a nuisance for the Ponds. It broke the Doctor's hearts on the spot to hear it come out of Aurora's lips to describe herself. Avalon used to do it all the time. "No, you're not. You're not a freak. You're..."

"Unique?" Aurora smiled sourly. "Yeah, I've heard that. Grandma River says that's what Mum and I are. But the point here is that it's because of me that Mum had to keep moving, had to always look over her shoulder to make sure nobody noticed me. She did a very good job, so much of a good job that she stopped living her life because of me."

The Doctor lowered his head. He knew exactly what Aurora meant. Avalon had prioritized Aurora — no doubt since the beginning — above anything else. That's why she wasn't upset with him...because what he has done for Avalon, she'd done the for Aurora. She made the sacrifices she needed in order to keep Aurora safe.

Aurora watched him process everything she'd said and for a moment, she felt pity for him. He had to accept the fact that not only had he missed out on her life but he had to learn what her mother had done for her sake. "C'mon," she grabbed his hand and led him inside the house. She couldn't ignore the warmth of his hand in hers. She had always wondered what it would be like to hold her father's hand and get a hug from him. She felt ridiculous now that she remembered that as a child she used to wonder what it would be like if he spun her around like a princess.

"Au...Aurora," the Doctor said once they were inside the living room. Aurora turned around and watched him test her name out in his lips. "Aurora Leigh...it's a beautiful name," he smiled at her.

Aurora didn't know what to do with herself in that moment. She folded her arms over her chest but it resembled more like she was trying to hug herself. "Aurora because of, you know...princess...but do you know what 'Leigh' means?"

"Uh, no, I don't..."

"In Celtic it means 'healer'..." Aurora lowered her gaze, "Healer as in...doctor. She named me after you."

Warmth blossomed in his chest. "No," he said suddenly, making her gaze rise again. "Your name is a blend of your mother and I. Aurora is for Avalon. It was the first story she told me of when she was a child. It was the story that brought us together when she was grown up. That story followed us to our last day together."

Something flickered across Aurora's eyes. It was almost like fascination, a deep awe that she just learned something new about her parents and it was her father who shared that knowledge. "I never thought of that. I just thought 'princess' and..." She shook her head and tucked some of her hair behind her ears. She took her book bag off and tossed it to the couch.

"Are you...?" The Doctor presumed. He wanted to know everything about her in that moment. How old was she? What did she like to eat? Did she like milkshakes like her mother? Did she hate pears like him? There were so many questions he had no idea where to begin.

"I'm glad you found me," she suddenly said, flashing him a smile when he blinked.

"What?"

"Time Vortex?" She raised her hand and allowed it to glow gold for a few seconds. "I've been trying to, um, make something. Mum said you always carried this little, um..."

The Doctor quickly pulled out his sonic screwdriver for her to see. As soon as she laid eyes on it, she beamed. His hearts warmed. "You were trying to make one?"

She nodded, almost looking mesmerized by the sonic. "Yeah, um...with some modifications. I like building things. I thought maybe I could make something similar to it but infuse it with my own energy. At the very least I could use it to draw you in...if you were still alive."

"Oh, Aurora, that could've been very dangerous."

"Which is exactly why I didn't tell Mum. I told you that I know everything and I had enough. I'm almost going to be an adult and it's time Mum got some of her life back."

"How old are you?"

"250."

The Doctor scoffed. "Hardly an adult. You're a teenager."

"I am an adult!" she stomped her foot. The Doctor smirked. She rolled her eyes. "It's not the point. I realized Mum gave up her life for me. She hasn't done anything except look after me and make sure that nobody realized I was here."

"Yeah, I can imagine she did," the Doctor nodded. "Because it's what I would've done too."

"But I don't want her to keep doing that. She doesn't have friends because of me. She doesn't go out and I know that she loved going out. Even her job...it's not what she wants. I know that she could write the best selling books out there but because it would draw attention to us, she doesn't do it. She doesn't visit Earth, she hardly sees my great grandparents. She doesn't travel at all. Dad..." She lowered her gaze almost fearfully, like she was waiting for the Doctor to scold her for the use of that word, "I need help. I need you."

The Doctor exhaled deeply. "I would do anything for you," the words fell out out of his mouth.

Aurora raised her gaze with shiny eyes. "Really?" Her voice shook. "You don't even know me."

"Your my daughter," he took a few steps towards her. "You're me, you're Avalon...you're ours. You don't understand how much I already love you." Aurora could barely swallow the lump in her throat. "And you have no idea how sorry I am for not being here with you."

Aurora felt like she was unraveling into her child self. Everything that could've been she was imagining. "I, uh, I used to wish that you were here so we could play. I loved playing princess."

The Doctor smiled softly. "Oh, I bet you did. Aurora?"

"Actually, I like Mulan. I like the swords," she bit her lip as a laugh threatened to slip out. "Plus, a cool talking dragon. I want one for a pet, actually."

The Doctor did laugh though. "That's more of your mother peeking out."

"Grandma Amy said the same thing." Aurora licked her lips nervously as she prepared to make her next question. "Are you...are you going to stay now? With Mum and I?" She searched his face for any clue of what his answer would be. "Please don't leave," she said quickly. "I-I don't want you to leave us, please!" She threw her arms around him and sniffled.

The Doctor wrapped his arms around her tightly. A fierce protectiveness flourished within him. Nothing would ever hurt her, not even him. He loved her to the moon and back. "Hey, hey, hey," he ran his hands through her hair. It really was like he was holding another version of Avalon. This was one was a young, more scared version but with stars in her eyes and an obvious glint of mischief. "I'm here, sweetheart. No matter what happens, I'm not leaving you again." He kissed the top of her head. "Your my princess."

Aurora's tear-stained face formed a smile. "Mum used to say that when I was a kid. She wasn't your princess anymore, I was."

The Doctor chuckled. "Yeah? I think she may have been right."

"Then I told her that she was your Queen instead."

"Above and beyond."

Aurora raised her head to meet her father's gaze. The same eyes stared at each other. "I love you, Dad. I've never been able to say that."

"I love you too, princess," he kissed her forehead. "Now I have to go speak with your Mum."

She nodded. "Yeah, okay." He let her go and headed for the hallway, only stopping when Aurora called after him. "If Mum says that she's okay, don't believe her. She's been by herself ever since you left."

The Doctor assured her that he wouldn't believe Avalon's lies. He continued on his way, stopping by the door that had quiet sniffles on the other side. He knocked gently against the door and opened it slightly.

Avalon was sitting on the side of her bed with her back to him. She obviously heard him come in but she didn't look back. "I was so scared when you left," she started. "I didn't know if the Silence was going to hurt you. But then I realized I was pregnant and I was terrified."

"I'm sorry, I should have...I should have talked to you about the possibilities..."

"I didn't know what I was going to do," she looked over her shoulder, revealing her reddened eyes. Her face shined with tears. "But then she was born," she whispered, "And suddenly I couldn't think of anything that wasn't her. I missed you and I loved you but I chose her in a heartbeat. I chose to forget about ever seeing you again to focus on keeping her safe."

"You did nothing wrong, Avalon," the Doctor walked over to her. "You did what a Mother always does. You cared for your child and you kept her safe. How could I blame you for that?"

Avalon turned her body around so that she could face him. "But I never forgot about you. Not a day passed by where I didn't wonder if you were alive. I never forgot about you, Fairy Tale Man."

"I always thought about you too, Ava," the Doctor smiled at her. "I'm so sorry for leaving you. I'm sorry for leaving you on your own with Aurora. If I had known about her—"

"How could you have?" she cut him off with a sad smile. "I did everything I could to keep her hidden. I didn't want the Silence coming after her."

"You protected her," he cupped her face and cleared as many tears as he could off her face. "I wish I could've been here though. I missed out on a lot by the looks of it."

"She's just like you," she chuckled through her tears.

"Yeah," he laughed with her. "I saw some of that."

"She invents things. She's been inventing things since she was a kid."

"Guilty as charged."

Avalon slid off the bed and moved towards the dresser against the wall. The Doctor followed her and watched her go through some of the picture frames sitting on top of the dresser. Finally, she picked one up and showed it to him.

Aurora was a child who couldn't seem to grin more than she already was. The Doctor laughed when he saw one of her teeth was missing. Her orange hair was in pigtails but some of it was sticking out like she'd been working on something. That 'something' had to be the small device in her hands that she was showing proudly to the camera.

"She was 6 right here and she somehow invented a weather predictor. Who needs weathermen when you have Aurora Leigh Reynolds?" Avalon mused. "She's built all types of things. I dare say she got a stronger bite of the inventing bug than you did."

The Doctor started looking at the rest of the frames. He was sure that they chronicled some of Aurora's best moments. There was one of Avalon and a younger Aurora, probably when she was around 4, at a lakeside.

"You hate camping," he remembered.

Avalon hummed. "But Aurora doesn't. She likes looking at the stars and with all the lights in the city it's impossible. We go camping once a year."

"Really?" The Doctor smiled warmly. "These all look amazing. You've done a good job with her."

Avalon carefully placed her frame back on the dresser. "But it's not enough anymore. There are some things I just can't figure out. She thinks like me but with your intelligence. She's a lot quicker than the other kids her age and sometimes it brings her unwanted attention. I know her. I know my daughter and I know that she doesn't want to live here anymore. She wants to go exploring. River takes her out sometimes."

"She sees things that others don't." The Doctor felt like he was visiting Avalon's file all over again. "The pace here isn't enough for her. There's not enough stimulation."

Avalon nodded. "She's talked about some university here but I know that the only reason she wants to go here is because she doesn't want to leave me. I've instilled the idea that we should always remain together and as much as I love that, knowing that the Silence is gone, I don't have keep her here anymore. She's free."

"As are you." The Doctor curled his hand around hers, watching her cautiously for any negative reaction she could give. He needed to test to what extent he was allowed to touch her. So far, he was only subjected to her long stare. "You've done an amazing with Aurora, she absolutely loves you, and she never wants to leave you alone. I don't want to leave you so—" he nervously licked his lips, "—if you still have any lingering feelings for me...I'd like to be with you." He heard Avalon's quiet gasp but he was unsure what type of gasp it was. Would she send him away? Tell him that he'd lost his chance? Or would she agree?

"Aurora..." She said first, making him smile. "She wants you in her life. She's always dreamt about meeting you and travelling with you..."

"I'd love nothing more than to do that with her," he nodded. "Regardless of your decision, I'd like to be a part of my daughter's life. If you decide that you don't want anything to do with me, it won't affect anything with Aurora. But if you decide that you do want me around..."

"Would you stay here with us?" she asked suddenly. "Would you stay here with us and live...here?" she made a weak gesture to the house.

"Without a doubt," he answered on the spot. He allowed her to search him for any trace of that doubt he swore didn't exist. She wouldn't find it.

"You would do that?" she asked in disbelief. She pulled her hand out of his and moved around the room. "You would do the house, the-the getting up early to take Aurora to school, the grocery shopping, the laundry, the—"

"I'd do it all, Avalon, if it meant I got to stay with you."

Avalon turned around and met his gaze. She swallowed hard. She'd forgotten the way his long gazes made her feel. She'd forgotten what it felt like to have someone want to be with her. Together. Her eyes ultimately looked away from the Doctor when a river streamed from them.

"Avalon..." the Doctor felt utterly helpless watching her slowly break into sobs.

"Please come hold me," she managed to say before the sobs took her over. "I-I—" The Doctor was already by her side before she could say more. He held her as tightly as possible but it paled in comparison to Avalon's death grip she had on him. "I don't want you to leave me again. I love you. Being with you and travelling together was my life — it was when I was the happiest. I want to come back and be with you. I want to visit places, get into trouble with you, run together."

"I want that too," he whispered.

She pulled herself away enough to look up at him. "Most importantly, I want to wake up and go to sleep at your side. I want to make milkshakes with you, bicker with you, read stories together..." Her hands found their way up to his face, fingers delicately stroking his skin. "I want to be your Ava again."

The Doctor lowered his head, his words coming out in a whisper, "I want to be your Fairy Tale Man again too."

She smiled at him through her tears. She watched him come closer until there was no space between them. Their lips reconnected for the first time in two centuries and yet it felt like no time had passed them by. They remembered every last detail about each other, from the way their fingers felt on each other's skin to the perfect angle they favored as they deepened their kiss. Everything stayed exactly the same.

Avalon parted slightly to speak, but when she did their lips would brush over each other's. "We shouldn't get carried away," she said specifically for the trailing fingers she felt under the hem of her blouse.

She felt the Doctor's smug smile against her lips. "Right," he pulled his fingers out from under her shirt to place them on her waist. "Wouldn't want to come up with a little sibling for Aurora right now."

Avalon instantly shoved him on the chest but he just laughed. "That's not funny," she said. "You know she knows about the Sapling? They've met and all and somehow they were convinced that one day, they'd have a little brother to be a trio."

"Oh," the Doctor grinned.

"Stop it!" she warned him before he said anything else. "You should also know that the only reason they planned that is to overpower us...in a heist."

The Doctor's face lit up at the word. "A heist? Against our own children? That's cold...and also strangely exciting."

"Aurora's always wanted to heist with you," Avalon sighed. "She's always had all this list of things she wished she could do with you."

"Well, I think it's about time I make some of those things happen. What do you say, Ava?"

Avalon suddenly grabbed his head and kissed him fervently. "Take me away," she managed to say in-between kisses.

The Doctor was quick to respond to such hungry kisses, but he also found time to slip out some words. "Where to?"

"Neverland."

The Doctor pulled away to meet her gaze, letting their breathless mouths fall into laughter.

~ 0 ~

Aurora was pacing back and forth in the living room when she heard her mother's bedroom door opening. Her wide eyes watched her parents emerge from the hallway and the first thing she noticed were their interlocked hands. Her hearts skipped a few beats.

Avalon met her eyes once they stood across from her. "We'll have to pack one more time."

The grin that spread across Aurora's face was from ear to ear. Aurora laughed and ran towards them. She was encased in a tight hug. "We're actually leaving? To the TARDIS?" She looked up to meet their gazes. "To-to be a family?"

"And to travel," the Doctor touched Aurora's cheek. "And learn. You're not done with school—"

Aurora rolled her eyes. "But I know more than everyone does!"

"See?" Avalon glanced at the Doctor while she gestured to Aurora. "Your daughter."

But all the Doctor did was smile proudly. "Yes she is." Aurora beamed at him. "And she's going to be phenomenal."

"Feed the ego," Avalon sighed. "That's also yours."

The Doctor did not care at all. He just held her and Aurora together, as tightly as possible, while he wondered where-oh-where he would bring his princess and queen first.

[frazzledsoul]

Rory completely deciding to look past Jess's outright lie of how he got a black eye in Swan Song is so funny to me. I don't think think there's any explanation that's more remotely unbelievable than his claim that he was "throwing a football around with a buddy." Like, what even? You don't have friends, Jess. Do you even know how football works? (Okay, it's not like Rory does, either). He could claim he decided to join the circus for an evening, accidentally became a tightrope walker (I hate when that happens), misjudged his dismount and was kicked in the eye by an elephant because he didn't land where he was supposed to and it would have been more believable. Not to mention that he literally abandoned her at her grandmother's house and disappeared.

But hey, as long as he didn't pick a fight with Dean Rory decides she doesn't need to know what else he's been up to because she's horny AF and has it bad for him, and goes home and tells Lorelai she's totally going to fuck him soon. He may be a terrible liar, but he's very pretty, so she'll overlook it.

[ambitionsource]

S2 Rewatch - Maggie’s Take [ 207 ]

oh honey we’ve got a big storm coming...

Favorite scene

We’re getting to the point now in the season where all these questions become a million times harder to answer. All the scenes have an oomph to them. All the characters are at their richest. All the performances go off. So forgive me for cheating and giving multiple answers from here on out most likely. So in 207, three answers jump to mind. 1) The sequence where Farkle is having his true meltdown, before “Santa Fe.” From a writing standpoint, I remember I was really proud with how that scene turned out. It was a fun challenge, trying to capture that anxiety and panic and loss of reality. A fun fact that you may or may not know is that nearly all of the lines of dialogue said by the hallucinated characters are repetitions or variations on dialogue that has actually already been said in the show, meant to highlight how Farkle’s brain has taken these (usually offhand) comments and held onto them obsessively and in some cases even warped them into something more antagonistic than they were. Then there was the pattern of tying the sentiments together into one overarching monologue of sorts, repeating that thematic word over and over, “enough.” It was just so fun to write, and I’m really happy with how it came together. 2) The Dylan, Lucas, and Asher argument in the booth. Ooh, buddy. This was a true turning point, both for the narrative and for Asher and Dylan as characters. To me, that is the scene where they rise from supporting characters to mains, and in some ways it’s a long time coming. I love how it highlights the imperfections at play between that trio, and the way that Lucas and Asher know exactly how to get at one another, but nothing gets me more than Dylan’s “HEY” and stepping in between them. How Dylan snapping seems to be what pulls Lucas out of his anger, and how Dylan’s anger only lasts seconds before it shifts into like shock / concern... ugh I love him. I love them! Definitely a standout scene, even back when I first wrote it, but even more so now that Dylan and Asher have such larger roles in the third season. 3) The unintentional coming out scene between Riley and Charlie. The whole thing is just rich with tension, like I love the moment where Charlie is like you can’t tell anyone you can’t -- and she just interrupts him and it goes dead silent until she’s emphatically like I would never tell anyone... like chills, bro. Chills. And the relief that comes from Riley finally understanding why he’s been acting the way he has... so good. The follow up to this choice is the Zay and Charlie scene at the end where the freedom of someone knowing seems to allow him the strength to kiss Zay in their studio... I love them. I love it all. Whew. 

Favorite performance

It’s getting hard... it’s getting tough to choose... like “Santa Fe” is up there because of the raw emotion of it and what it represents for Farkle and his arc. “Loser” is great too, mainly in concept, as we have Dasher acting as Lucas’s subconscious mind essentially and all of the cool choices in the production of the number. But I think I will have to go with “Waving Through A Window,” as that is such a standout performance in my opinion. It delivers emotionally, it has a cool flow and concept, there’s snow... whenever it comes on AMBITION shuffle I’m like oh yeah. Now we’re talking. And I love the visual of Isadora being stuck on the acting block / courtyard table, always inches from falling off the ledge but managing to avoid disaster. It’s just a really cool visual in my head. So that’s the top for me I think.

Favorite character (within context of the episode)

I literally can’t choose. I don’t know what to say. I think I’ll say maybe Charlie and Zay? Both in their storyline together as well as individuals. They’ve both got great solos (“Consideration” and “Exhale”), Charlie has his devolution emotionally and Zay finally (righteously) snaps at Angela. They find refuge, in Riley and Harper and of course each other. There are standout moments throughout the episode for their relationship -- holding hands at the top in the studio, Charlie hugging Zay in the hallway to comfort him and telling him it’s okay, the fraught moment of Charlie snapping at Zay about being at his locker which feels like a tiny unintentional step back, Charlie’s frazzled kiss on the cheek in public, the ending scene with another handhold and the softest kiss... ugh I love them. They were at a peak this episode, which makes sense considering what’s about to come...

Favorite line(s)

“You know what, you’ve got a lot to think about. Let me just get out of your hair. Best of luck with this next phase in your life, sir. Save a little social security for the rest of us provided climate change doesn’t kill us first!” --Lucas James Friar, to Eric

“I mean, but what am I going to do instead? Follow in the footsteps of my mom? I won’t survive veterinary school, Mister E. And you can only cure lung cancer once!” --Darby Winters

“Might be nice to help combat the impending danger of climate change and issues with renewable resources by studying environmental sciences or maybe aeronautical space engineering in pursuit of space materials that could be used as new energy sources. Ooh, or a rodeo clown!” --Dave Williams

“Actually, I’m near-sighted. But I wear contacts.” --Dylan Orlando, in response to Eric asking if his future plan is “short-sighted”

“I looked into “space cowboy,” but as it turns out you need a degree in aerospace engineering as well as a license to boy cows, and that seems like a lot of work. So then I thought, well, if I don’t have the capacity to work, what else is there in this capitalistic hell we call society? Sure, I could probably enter myself in human cage fights and scrap to death for spare change, but I think that would hurt after a while and to be honest, I think I’d feel a bit like a piece of meat if I took up that mantle. Who would I be fighting to impress? The bourgeoisie? Hard pass. But after some deep, probing soul-searching, I finally hit the one. Trophy husband. Now, I know what you’re thinking. To accomplish such a grand ambition, I’d have to get someone to like me. And that’s a pretty hefty task, believe me I know, but I’ve devised a work around. This is, as Dave would say, galaxy-brained thinking, Mister E. I’m going to put an ad on Craigslist.” --Lucas James Friar

“It’s easy to say you believe in someone. Showing up for them is a different story.” --Zay Babineaux

“We’re friends, Lucas. We care about you. Asher wasn’t lying about that. And when you decide you want to do something about this, we’ll be there. When you need us... we’re going to be there for you. No matter what.” --Dylan Orlando

“I don’t know if this will make you feel better or worse, but the truth is it all comes down to endurance. How long you can take it, how long you can stick it out until it ends up being your shot. The true test of who lives the dream is who hangs on… and who gives up.” --Harper Burgess

An underrated moment

There are so many it would be so hard for me to pick one if I thought about it too hard, so I’m gonna go with my gut. My favorite mini moment in the episode is during the end montage, when Dylan climbs in the window to comfort Asher. There’s a lot of small details I like about it that occur just within like 30 seconds -- Asher’s routine with crushing up his anxieties (a thing elaborated on in Cruel Summer), how commonplace it is for Dylan to climb in the window, and how he jumps into comfort mode and they both fall into that without any words at all. I just love it. And I can picture the way Dylan kisses his cheek and then his shoulder and then rests his head against him so perfectly... I adore them. They are angels.

First impression vs your reread impression

Obviously, even when I wrote this last year it felt major. Because it is. This is the turning point episode, literally and narratively. It’s smack in the middle, and from here I knew everything was going to be bigger and more, especially since we pulled the (metaphorical) trigger with Farkle. We knew that was a narrative risk, but we felt strongly about it, and we took every method we thought possible to set it up well, be cautious about it to y’all (with trigger warnings and hotlines, etc.), and then follow through on it in a way that balanced realism with care and attention. I think we managed to pull it off, but it was a great relief that you all reacted so well to it (in terms of the narrative, not like joyously LMAO) and trusted us to carry it forward. That kind of trust in a writer means a lot, and that’s what I’ll always remember when I think about this episode. Thankfully, we all survived it, and now here we are on the cusp of S3. Insane. And now onto 208... the storm is here...

[flying-elliska]

evening stars - Elu drabble

For the ask “ Could you pretty please write something where eliott has a tough day at work and lucas takes care of him? Like basically makes a burrito eliott and feeds him lots of nice food, cuddles him and tells him how much he loves him and how proud he is? “

VENDREDI 20:49

Eliott’s had mostly good days ever since he started his job. He thought he would be overwhelmed, juggling all the change in his life - the newness of university, and now this job, not to mention more perpetual challenges like his mental health, without sacrificing his friendships or most importantly, his relationship. Also, to be quite honest - he loves movies, but it was everything else he was unsure about being able to deal with, like the clients or the administrative aspects.

A lot of his anxieties have revealed themselves to be unfounded. A lot of that is due to his boss, David, being chill personnified. He is pretty easy going when it comes to organization or timing. He hired Eliott because he recognized the same passion in him that he had himself, despite his lack of experience. According to him, there are very few stores of this type left, with how everything moved online. So people who come here aren’t here to just get a movie and leave, often they want the human part of it, they want to be recommended stuff and they want to talk to people who talk, breathe and live movies. Which Eliott totally recognizes himself in. He lucked out, really, and it’s already happened two times that they closed up late because they had gotten involved in a really passionate discussion about visual storytelling or old Japanese movies.

But of course, it can’t all be sunny days. One of the big lessons life seems to want to impart to him.

He was already stressed up about today before it started : David had to leave for the afternoon and left him alone in the store for the first time. At breakfast, he had been snappy for no reason to Lucas and Lucas had been even worse ; in fact he had been grumpy all week, convinced he had flunked his last math exam. So they’d started the day in a very much less than ideal state, even if they had made up and apologized by text later. Then he had had a weird rush in early afternoon that had left him frazzled. Followed by an asshole who had been very insistant on his opinion on Lars von Trier movies, and when he’d ventured the idea that maybe all the brutalized naked women thing was maybe a little misogynistic, the man had reacted almost violently, drilling Eliott about a lot of obscure movie details before declaring him a fake, throwing out some vaguely homophobic insults about ‘political correctness’, and leaving. To crown it all, Eliott had messed up a pile of old DVDs David had been cataloguing, and had to figure out if he had lost one of them or if it had been stolen. And on top of that - he still hasn’t started the essay he needs to turn in on Monday.

In short, it had been an avalanche of little crappy things, and it had pushed him from feeling cranky into feeling completely miserable. It’s moments like these that leave him feeling so embarassed at his lack of capacity to cope with little setbacks. Intellectually he knows that it’s not the end of the world. But his brain is already making up all sorts of vicious scenarios about how David is going to fire him, how he’s never going to be able to keep a job, or talk to people properly, or finish university, how he is a fraud that doesn’t really know movies and his opinions are all childish and pathetic, how Lucas is going to leave him and he is going to end up living under a bridge. He’s completely spiraling so when he gets out of the metro to walk to their appartment, he sends a short text to Lucas to warn him, something like fuck life sucks then today then bad mood i’m sorry. So maybe Lucas knows how to avoid him if he doesn’t feel like dealing with his shit tonight.

He climbs the stairs in their elevator-less building to the fourth floor feeling heavier than ever, thinking of just plopping into bed clothes with the hope his misery somehow would evaporate during the night.

However, when he opens the door, Lucas is waiting for him. In their little entrance, leaning against the wall.

He just says, “Hey,” before Eliott drops his bag on the ground and rushes into his arms. Lucas gets on his tiptoes and wraps himself around him as best he can.

“I’m so sorry.” he whispers into his boyfriend’s neck.

“What for ?”

“I don’t know...I had such a bad day, I feel like a fucking failure...totally horrible and like it’s contagious.”

“Yeah that’s so weird I’ve never heard of a job sucking before.”

Suddenly, Eliott feels like he wants to cry. He doesn’t know why he is like this, it’s ridiculous, and he wants to disentangle himself and disappear, but Lucas doesn’t let him. Instead he kisses him, mouth and then cheeks, and then takes him by the hand and leads him to their couch.

It’s the biggest item in their living room, a gift from Eliott’s parents and the most comfortable item of furniture he’s ever known. Sitting down on it automatically makes it difficult to get up again, and it’s perfect for when their friends come over to play video games. In this very moment, however, it feels like a beacon of safety to Eliott.

Lucas pushes him into the couch.

“Okay, how about you just stay there this evening, okay ? And let me take care of you. You don’t have to do anything.”

“Lucas...I have stuff to do, don’t you ?”

“Yes, right now, you have to commune with the couch. Be at one with the couch. Be the couch.” He says stubbornly before going to their room. Then he comes back - with a mountain of pillows and their bedcovers, as well as their pijamas, the matching ones with little dots. When they’ve changed clothes, he then starts wrapping Eliott in them until he looks like a burrito, and buries him in pillows, just his head peeking out. Eliott feels a little ridiculous, and like he can’t move, but mostly he feels warm, and held. When Lucas disappears again and comes back with the hot water bottle, he can’t help but laugh a little.

“I’m not sick, you know.”

“Yeah, I know, I just like having an excuse to do this.” He puts the thing next to Eliott’s feet, then dims the light. “How about we play a game. The outside world is cancelled. We’re going to order some food, and then watch a movie, or whatever we want, and talk, and I’m going to kiss you, and then...just whatever we want for as long as we want, okay ?”

Eliott squints at him from beneath pillows.

“Isn’t that like always ?”

“Yes but tonight we are doing it extremely on purpose.”

Lucas orders for them - their favorite comfort food, from the italian place nearby, lasagna and ravioli with cannoli for dessert, feeding each other bits of their respective dishes. Eliott tells Lucas all about his asshole customer, and delights in the creativity of Lucas’s insults.They watch one of Eliott’s favorite Ghibli movie, Kiki’s Delivery Service, after which Eliott sighs about wanting to run away and leave in the forest to paint. Lucas says he’ll just have to become a lumberjack, then, which is definitely not the Ghibli vibe, but he can’t help but think his boyfriend would look good in plaid.

After that, they turn all the lights except one - Lucas’s new galaxy lamp, which projects scattered little dots of light all over their walls and ceiling - and just sit. Eliott’s found his place sitting between Lucas’s legs, all envelopped and warm, and all his sorrows feel a lot more distant. He still feels...harried, and extremely tired, but the tension has drained away. That’s often how he feels around Lucas nowadays. The exciting newness of their relationship has faded a bit, but it’s been replaced by a deep sense of comfort and home that being together brings them. Eliott still can’t believe it, some days, that this is his life, that he gets to have this.

Lucas bends forward a little, and starts kissing him - on his forehead, cheeks, lips, so haphazardly it makes Eliott giggle a little. Then he brings Eliott’s hand to his mouth, and his forearm, and Eliott gets it - he’s trying to catch the stars with his mouth, kissing everywhere a little pinprick of light touches Eliott’s skin. He shivers. His boyfriend is so sneakily romantic when he really wants to be, it keeps surprising him.

“It’s the world that should be sorry for making you feel bad.” Lucas whispers in his ear. Kisses him again. “I’m so proud of how you’re handling all of this.” Another kiss, a little more heated the last. “They’re lucky to have you. That moron will feel so stupid when you’re a famous movie director.” He nuzzles into Eliott’s neck and sighs. 

Look, Eliott know it’s important for him to take charge of his emotions and work on his mental health, and all that. But god, it feels so good to have someone who is just wholly, entirely on his side. With whom he can be as soft or as wild as he needs, and never makes him feel like a burden. 

His lucky guiding star really came through for him, huh. 

He turns around and kisses his boyfriend - he’ll never get tired of thinking about him his way, his boyfriend boyfriend boyfriend boyfriend - and they melt into each other, whispering sweet nothings  until they drift off into sleep, and misery is but a distant memory.

[motleymoose]

Homecoming Pt 4: Nevarro Ch 3

Chapter 3

Getting to Know One Another

Fandom: The Mandalorian, Star Wars Characters: The Mandalorian (Din Djarin), Gender Neutral Reader, Various Unnamed Mandos, Paz Viszla, Drys Reyn (OC) - mention Words: 2.1k+ Warnings: Mostly friendly joshing, some angst (dang them emotions!)

Summary:

It would just be easier if I could punch all the things instead of dealing with emotions.

Notes:

The chapters for this part are short (I am just.... too tired to put out much more), but there are TWO MORE than the previous parts, so yay!

I mashed some Mando'a again, but THIS TIME I lurked on the mandoa dot org forums and gleaned a few noncanon words and learned a tiny bit about sentence structure (still not perfect, but it'll work for now, I hope???)

Thanks as always for reading, and stay tuned for more unwarranted anger and awkward fights!

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Homecoming Masterlist

We left the Armorer’s sanctum and turned left out the door down a long, dimly lit hallway. A scattering of warriors, encased in beskar armor, lounged on the floor and leaned against the walls. The chattering between them stopped when we approached.

A mountain of a Mandalorian stepped in front of the rest, his blue-gray armor worn but well-maintained. The bounty hunter stopped two paces from the other. The crown of his head barely reached the lip of the blue warrior’s helmet.

“All debts are paid,” the bounty hunter growled, all the while staring straight into the larger Mandalorian’s chest plate.

The blue warrior gave a full-belly laugh, leaning away from the hunter as he slapped his solid thigh and shook his mighty helmet. “Oh, verd’ika. You never cease to amaze me.” His impossibly deep voice seemed bright and cheerful, something I had yet to experience with the bounty hunter.

The shorter Mandalorian stood rooted to the spot, fists clenched at his sides. “Then what do you want.”

Straightening up to his imposing height, the blue-gray Mandalorian nodded towards me. “Tion’tuur haar jatekara’la solus?”

Blushing in embarrassment but increasingly becoming bolder, I stepped closer until I was shoulder-to-shoulder with the bounty hunter. “You’re funny, guy” I cooed sarcastically. “But I’d much rather spend my nights in a cold bunk, thank you very much.”

All of the Mandalorians turned their attention to me. I scowled back at them.

“I like this one!” the giant chuckled, laying a heavy gauntlet on the bounty hunter’s pauldron and pulling him in for a side hug. “Keeps you on your toes.” The other warriors laughed in unison. They returned to their tasks as the blue-gray Mandalorian half-drug, half-marched the hunter down the hallway. Wearily, I followed close behind, the child’s protective crib humming along beside me.

With the low lighting and almost no landmarks, I soon lost all sense of direction in the underground covert as I lagged wearily behind. Every few yards, a doorway would appear cut into the tunnel wall, looking exactly like the last. From the briefest of glances, I noted several storage rooms (weapons, food, medical) and family areas. The long hall tapered, funneling us into a boxy lobby. The nearest door led into something akin to a school.

Children of all ages and species darted in and out of the last one, squealing and giggling as they chased one another up and down the chamber. Adults working within the family rooms and in the widened tunnel itself could be heard admonishing, teasing and teaching the young rabble. How were they able to learn anything in all the ruckus? I could barely understand my own thoughts let alone what anyone else was saying. It would’ve been impossible to hold any sort of conversation with all of the shrill whistles and high shrieks bouncing off the walls.

As soon as we were past the school, a short Mandalorian in pale green beskar stepped out of the room and yelled. “Gev, verdike!” Her clear, commanding voice cut through the hubbub, and the children obediently stopped their revelry, returning reluctantly to the classroom.

The larger Mandalorian had let go of the bounty hunter by then, picking his way thoughtfully through the stream of little ones, handing out fist bumps and hair ruffles to many of them. Smiles brightened their round little faces, and I spotted several gap-toothed grins. A thought, both terrible and validating, gripped my brain, and I hastened to catch up to him, puffing with the effort of dodging around distracted children.

“Are-are all of these kids foundlings?” I asked breathlessly when I reached the gray-blue giant.

Turning his helmet a fraction, the big warrior studied me for a moment. “No, not all of them.” We stopped momentarily, letting a frazzled-looking man with an armload of burlap sacks unload his cargo onto an awaiting wooden trolley. Once he had secured his sacks and steered the cart out of the way, we continued on. “Some are born into the Clan. But most come to us because the galaxy can be a cruel, unforgiving place.”

“Ah.” I was relieved to hear that my circumstances weren’t out of the norm, but really I had nothing more to say on the subject.

Once we left the echoing lobby, the larger Mando led us to a small room down a seemingly deserted corridor. Opening the simple door, he gestured for me and the bounty hunter to enter. The child, still snoring in his cradle, tagged immediately behind.

The room was sparsely decorated, with a low table, much like the one in the Armorer’s sanctuary, a boxy wardrobe against the far wall, and a pull-out bunk, already extended and ready for use, near the door. The only other things in the room were two days worth of rations stacked neatly on the table and a bedroll with several thick blankets set beside the bunk.

I turned to the blue-gray Mandalorian. “What’s going on?”

The giant looked from me to the hunter. I could almost picture his kind, bright eyes in behind his darkened visor. “Do you still not know how to communicate?” he laughed, slapping the bounty hunter roughly on the back. “You need to work on that, vod, lest it comes back to bite you in the ass!”

Smothering a grin, I turned away from the pair and surveyed my surroundings once more. Nothing unusual, nothing dangerous, just a snug and tidy room all to myself. “Thank you for your hospitality, but I think I’m going to turn in for the day…” I stepped closer, hoping to crowd the warriors out of the room.

“Oh, erm-” the bounty hunter started.

The blue-gray Mando snorted. “Oh, brother, you really haven’t changed at all, have you?” He silently backed into the hallway, a huge feat for someone so large and covered in heavy metal plates. “You should definitely be the one to explain that!” he said pointedly to the bounty hunter before shoving the door closed with a sharp click.

Bewildered, I bit my lip and furrowed my brow as I tried to piece together what he had been getting at.

The bounty hunter, meanwhile, shifted nervously from foot to foot, his cloak gently brushing against the beskar. It would have been comforting if I hadn’t found him so frustratingly aggravating.

“Will you stop that?” I finally snapped, tossing my bag at the foot of the bunk and collapsing on the stiff mattress. “No one is telling me anything, and I like it about as much as I like you.” I tugged off my boots and kicked them under the bed. “So spill. Why the heck are we here, and what was that all about?”

The bounty hunter hummed tunelessly, tapping his cuisses with a nervous finger. After a moment of internal debate, he strode across the room and slouched onto the table. The neat stacks of ration packets skittered lightly over the smooth surface, sliding over the edge and landing on a cushion with a muffled plisskff. Ignoring the food, the Mandalorian unfastened and stripped off his gloves, one finger at a time. Once removed, he laid them one at a time across each knee, smoothing the soft leather over and over again with his long, blunt fingers.

“W-what do you know about Reyn?” he asked, staring at the ground, his elbows resting heavily upon his thighs.

“I already told you everything I know,” I mumbled. Falling back onto the body-sized cushion at the head of the bunk, I wriggled deeper into the rough mattress, sighing as my muscles slowly relaxed. “I only know what he taught me, and as you can tell, it wasn’t much.”

Making a noncommittal sound, the bounty hunter continued to rub the gloves on his knees. He didn’t say anything for a long while.

I was dozing when he spoke next, and I had to fight myself awake in order to understand what he was telling me.

“-that was all before the Empire collapsed.”

I rolled to my side and squinted at him, suddenly very, very interested. “What’s this about the Empire?”

Huffing in frustration, the Mandalorian twisted both gloves between his fists and looked up at me. “Drys Reyn? He’s aruetii. He sold out his Clan, a Rebel-aligned faction of the Death Watch, to the Empire. When the Imperials arrived, instead of arresting the leaders of the rebellion, making examples of them, the troopers slaughtered all of them. Right down to the smallest foundling. Reyn took the credits the Moff paid him and ran.” The hitch in his voice was barely noticeable, the tremble in his fingers practically nonexistent, but the emotion was there and I saw it. “Rumor was he’d been killed in a firefight by a smuggler. And that’s what the covert believed until…” He swallowed audibly, the grip on his gloves tightening dangerously.

“Until what?” I whispered, unwilling to believe that my caretaker had done anything so heinous as getting his kindred murdered by the Imps. He had been a stern but kindly old man, blunt to the point of offense yet overly forgiving for any and all trouble I caused. There was still a little part of me that even loved my buir, no matter how much he had hurt me when he’d left.

The bounty hunter angled his helmet towards me, shoulders sagging as his hands drooped between his thighs. “You,” he replied. “Without you, the covert would’ve gone on believing he was dead. You are the key to finding him. To make him pay for his crimes against the Clans.”

“But he could still very well be dead!” I exclaimed. Dread and fear bloomed joyfully in my chest, the growing tension in my body sprouting painfully through my tired muscles. Piecing together what he was possibly getting at, I shot straight up in the bunk, clenching the cushion to my chest. “Last time I saw him was years ago, when he left me on my homeplanet to rot.” Exhaling fiercely, I let go of the pillow and struggled to the edge of the bed. I had to get out of the tunnels, away from the covert. It was all becoming too claustrophobic for my liking. “I haven’t heard anything of him since then,” I said, shoving my feet back into my boots. “And trust me, I looked.” With that statement, I jumped to my feet, grabbed my pack and swung it over my shoulders. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve gotta go… somewhere that isn’t here.” Discretion went out the window when I had leapt out of bed, so I opted for the quickest and least stealthy solution and lunged for the door.

As usual, the Mandalorian had seen my actions before I could even think them all the way through.

Hands like iron clamped onto my biceps from behind, spinning me in mid-air. I landed on my feet, somewhat wobbly but altogether upright. With a gentle shove, he directed me back to the bunk. Snarling, I tried to duck under his arm. He dragged me back to the bunk by the straps of my bag.

“Touch me again, chakaar, and I will punch you so hard that -”

“K’uur, vod’ika. Udesii! I don’t want to fight you,” he said when I whirled on him, fists raised. He raised his hands, palms out to show that he meant no harm.

I was wary in believing him.

“Then why can’t I leave? And what do you mean ‘vod’ika?’” I lowered my fists a fraction and glared at him. “You and me ain’t on friendly terms, bub.”

Stepping backwards slowly, the bounty hunter came to a stop when he was parallel to the door. “There’s no easy way to say this.”

“Okay?” I snorted derisively. “When has anything ever been easy between us?”

He flinched slightly, and I almost felt guilty about my words. Almost.

“The thing you have to understand is that when Mandalorians adopt a foundling, that child is a part of the Clan until it is reunited with its people or comes of age and chooses to leave. Some warriors take on many foundlings, and some can only care for one,” he explained patiently, his gaze somewhere at my knees. “D-Drys Reyn was one with many, from everywhere. Most he was able to return to their kind. But others like-” He stopped, swallowing once more. “Others like you and… and me. We would’ve had no family to be returned to.”

Stunned, my hands dropped heavily to my sides. I shuffled tentatively forward, unsure whether I was going to cry or hit something. “Are-are you saying that…?”

Clearing his throat, the Mandalorian looked directly into my eyes. “My name is Din Djarin,” he said softly. “And I am part of your Clan.”

__________________________________________

Notes:

verd’ika - private (rank) Can be used affectionately, often to a child; *little soldier* - context is critical. Tion’tuur haar jatekara’la solus? - (*furiously mashes Mando’a together*) When’s the lucky day? (lit. “Which day is the lucky one?”) Tion’tuur (which day); haar (the - definite article - rare and emphatic); jatekara’la (jate’kara - luck, ‘la - [-ly] adj. [ whole word from Taljair te Mir'ad on mandoa.org forums]) Gev, verdike! Pack it in, little soldiers! aruetii - traitor, foreigner, outsider chakaar - corpse robber, thief, petty criminal - general term of abuse K’uur, vod’ika. Udesii! - Hush, little sibling. Calm down! (Take it easy!)

[almondharry]

you look so good : two

you look so good [9.1k]

“Let’s get some pasta, green beans, kidney beans, and some lentils.”

Genevieve’s nose scrunched. “I don’t even know what to do with lentils.”

“I have a great recipe for a dal curry. I’ll teach you, it’ll be perfect. We can make a whole day out of it.”

A whole day? For lentils? Genevieve opened and closed her mouth shut, no words came out. 

Arnold’s Singularity Theory

October 26, 2019

Her back was hunched over the wooden desk beside her bed. The high pitched ringing of her alarm snapped her eyes open at six in the morning. The sky was a navy blue; she could make out the few dog walkers on the street. It was her only day off, but the piled work on her table argued otherwise.

Genevieve was alone in her freezing apartment. The heating was broken and when she told Mr. Goldwin, her landlord, he didn’t have his hearing aid on. She had a routine for Sundays: Wake up. Do practice problems. Make a cup of tea. Sleep. 

A dull ache prodded between her shoulder blades, her spine was sorely unaligned. Her face was all sunken cheeks and shades of grey. The sweater bought last month suddenly became a few sizes too big. 

The sun created hues of orange and reds. The blue that slowly peeked out at the sides made it seem like a bowl of dirty paint water being stirred. The evening stillness in her flat was interrupted by the sudden roar of an engine. As she looked out the window, a car zoomed down the road with a blaring radio. An animated lightning bolt was left behind, its speed meant it was gone within a blink. An unsettling feeling made itself a home in the pit of her stomach. She pictured it as swirls, starting off as small slow circles, and eventually growing into sharp hurried edges. 

It was probably nothing, maybe university kids having a laugh, but she didn’t have the time to mull over it because the swinging of her front door and jingling of a bundle of keys sounded loudly. 

Meena opened the door to her refrigerator and the only thing there was a flickering light bulb and an empty box of orange juice. A high pitched shrill followed.

“Gen!” 

Genevieve was out of milk, eggs, and cereal.

She wouldn’t have given it another thought and might’ve ordered take out or popped in at the Smalls’ to split a pizza with Jonah, the neighbour’s kid who she tutored every once in a while. He was the only child of a single dad who worked too many hours at the construction site to make rent. He wasn’t home often and they had a silent understanding of popping in every couple days to keep an eye on him, much like Meena liked to keep tabs on Genevieve. Except, Genevieve wasn’t a scrawny teenage boy who needed to be looked after, something which Meena would refute without a shadow of doubt. At the current state of Genevieve’s flat, the jury would easily side with Meena Ahmed.

Meena had a hand on her hip, her lips pressed in a firm line. She took a deep breath, pinching the carton between her thumb and index finger. “Gen-e-vieve!” 

Meena put her foot down and opened the trash can only to find it overflowing. She held back a gag. 

“Genevieve!” 

After some rustling and movement on the other side of the wall, her feet stumbled out of her bedroom. An unimpressed snarl on her face, Genevieve’s body leaned against the doorway.

“I think by now everyone in this bloody building knows my name,” she said with a textbook in one hand and a pen in the other. She had not looked away from the pages. She hurriedly scratched an answer to her practice problems before it could float away from her brain. “That’s exactly the information they need to kick me out.”

Meena was in her work out clothes, a bright pink neon top with matching trainers. She looked straight out of a healthy living ad. She had glossy black hair, almond shaped eyes, and always smelled of fresh daisies. She had that all American smile and pearly whites that were blinding. She was into juicing, kale, and art history. 

“What is this?”

“What’s what?” Genevieve inquired, her eyes glued on the next problem.

When a moment of silence went by and no response was given, her head shot up.

Her eyes flickered from the trash can—she thought she saw something move in there— to the open door of her empty refrigerator. Her lips fell into an O shape. 

“When you told me you went to the shops on Tuesday, I didn’t know you were talking about two bloody weeks ago,” Meena huffed as she bent down to tie a knot on the black bag, her nose scrunched up. It was atypical to hear her accent try out British sayings, but amusing nonetheless. “Have you been eating?”

“Don’t be so dramatic. I do have instant noodles on the shelf. And I mainly eat at the diner.” Genevieve shrugged, her attention migrated back to her pages. What at first glance looked like to be ten simple problems turned out to be a mess of numbers and formulas that weren’t making any sense. 

“That God awful place serves nothing but heart disease! It takes a whole stack of napkins to soak up that grease!” Meena scoffed as she replaced the bin with a fresh bag. On multiple occasions, she had cornered a frightened Walter to discuss his technique and may have even manipulated him to add a vegan alternative to his infamous pancakes. Thanks to Meena, Flo’s now served gluten-free, vegetarian, and no sugar added options. Genevieve firmly believed Walter did it out of fear, but he won’t admit it. “And instant noodles are not a meal, we have talked about this.”

“‘Course they are! An efficient one too.”

“What happened to ‘We’re gonna change things this year, Meena! Real changes! You won’t recognize me by the time I’m done’?” 

If there was one thing Meena Ahmed took seriously, it was New Year’s resolutions. She kept every one ever since she was old enough to make them. She hadn’t missed a gym day for the past three years. When she said she would take on meditation, she actually did. When her mind became set on studying abroad in London, on January first, she was boarding a plane. 

So when the following December 31st hit and Genevieve was one too many drinks in with Meena, she found herself making empty promises of eating better and taking care of herself. Little did Meena know that to Genevieve, resolutions were much like a two-week free trial. As soon as that time frame was up, you could up and go. 

“I put in a solid effort for a week, and that’s what counts!”

“We need to go to the shops. You have nothing here. You need a list.” The pen between Genevieve’s fingers was swiped and the tearing of paper was quick from her notebook. She was also very much into being intrusive. “Let’s start off with the basics. Eggs, milk, bread. Do you want tea?”

“I can do my own groceries! I’m not a child, Meena!”

“Could’ve fooled me. By the looks of it, you’ve been living off frosted flakes. Do you even know where the closest store is?”

Genevieve scoffed and propped herself on the counter with the back of her elbows. “Of course I do, I am very much capable of taking care of myself.”

Meena paused. Her body turned towards Genevieve with her full, utmost attention. Her eyes scanned her from head to toe, Genevieve was being appraised.

She didn’t put effort to hide the worried crinkle forming between her brows. “Have you showered today? Changed your clothes?”

Genevieve wasn’t a slob, but she did let herself go at times. It was something that Meena, who religiously went to get fresh manicures every two weeks, couldn’t quite grasp.  

“Oh, sod off! I was just about to run myself a bath before you came barreling in.”

She wasn’t, but Meena didn’t need to know that.

“Hm, what type of tea?” Meena asked after rolling her eyes dismissively. 

“Green, please.”

“Let’s get some pasta, green beans, kidney beans, and some lentils.”

Genevieve’s nose scrunched. “I don’t even know what to do with lentils.”

“I have a great recipe for a dal curry. I’ll teach you, it’ll be perfect. We can make a whole day out of it.”

A whole day? For lentils? Genevieve opened and closed her mouth shut, no words came out. She sighed, getting Meena to budge was a faraway dream. She rubbed her strained eyes as Meena listed off something about the lack of vitamins in her diet. She was now on a tangent explaining how an increase in omega-3 and healthy fats in her diet could be beneficial when Genevieve's front door knob jiggled. There was a grunt and a strategic kick to the door, and it flew open.

“Gen!” he panted, his tongue slipped out unintentionally like a dog. His cheeks were flushed a cherry red, probably from the trek up the stairs. Jonah’s backpack was twice the size of him. He wore a shirt with his favourite comic book character, its armpits a shade darker than the rest of his shirt.

He had a ghost white face and his left eye twitched. “Hey, bud, you alright?” Genevieve raised a brow.

Little lungs took in a heavy breath, quite like pulling the handles of a bicycle air pump up.

“I don’t get the trigonometric equations! I have a test tomorrow! Mrs. Hansuld was going over the review in class and it looked like she was speaking Russian— and I know I should’ve been studying last week but they just released the new version of Triton Galaxy X and it was just so beyond cool, Gen. I am already on level twelve, and, well, now I have a test and I don’t know any of it. Nothing. Zero. I don’t think I can even add numbers anymore.”

Genevieve looked at Meena. Her mouth was parted from shock as she blinked at the frazzled boy in front of them. “You’re so tiny… but you, you speak so much and so fast.”

“Um, actually, you’re mistaken.” He raised an accusing finger. His height was a sensitive topic. He was at the stage where all his friends were getting growth spurts and growing like weeds, whereas he had yet to experience his own. “I am almost five foot and that is within the normal height range on WebMD, Docs4You and according to my pediatrician.” 

Genevieve found it amusing that his voice reached a higher pitch the more defensive he got. He was a whistle by the end of his sentence. It also didn’t help that his last name was Smalls and kids in school could be cruel. 

“‘Course, yeah, I’m sorry. My bad.” Meena nodded quickly. She knew she hit a nerve as she backed up slowly. She scratched the back of her neck. “Um, well, Gen and I were planning on picking up groceries, but I’ll go grab ‘em.”

“Great, I’ll go take my books out.” Jonah dragged his bag like a potato sack into the living room.  

“You really don’t have to, Meena.” 

“Gen, it’s no big deal,” she brushed off. “Anyway, I don’t think your pal wants me around much. I need an escape and maybe a magazine too.”

When Meena gulped uncomfortably, Genevieve shook her head. She pushed herself off the counter. 

“Here take my card.” Genevieve shoved the plastic rectangle into Meena’s hand. A comforting squeeze was given. “If you get him one of those milk chocolate bars, he will forgive you in ten minutes tops.”

“Right,” Meena laughed. “I’ll be back in no time.”

***

October 27, 2019

There was a buzzing.

The room was swallowed in darkness, the crescent moon that hung behind the window didn’t provide enough light to warrant a quick search. It was enough of a reason for Genevieve to shut her half opened lids.

Except that the buzzing began again. 

Genevieve groaned into her pillow until the nuisance came to a full stop. Whoever was beckoning her attention could do without it until the sun came up. There was an ache in her neck from the poor posture that her body folded in. To top it off, she had an 8:00 a.m. class. There were not enough hours in the night so she was clinging on to any thread of peace. She tossed and turned until she got the sheets pooled around her in just the right way.

Just when Genevieve was about to slip into the blissful state of unconsciousness, the aggravating buzz started once more. The less than pleased frown on her lips could surely make fresh flowers wilt. Her limbs were heavy with sleep as she moved her duvet to find the pesky device. Genevieve lived in a shithole. Labelling her room a shoe box would be bordering glamorous. Although, it did make it easier to find things. 

It took a couple of shuffles and twists to hear the thud of a screen colliding against the floorboard. The damn thing was still ringing. The brightness on the unknown caller screen made her face glow blue and the back of her eyes burn; she shut them while blindly hitting the green circle. 

“Hm?” Her voice croaked. 

“You know the time I got you out of a thing?”

Their words were slurred and the glowing digits on her windowsill read 5:26 a.m. This meant one thing only. “No, sorry. Wrong number.” 

Genevieve brought the phone away from her face, and just as her finger hovered over the red circle, a needy yelp cried out.

“Gen! Don’t hang up!”

Her eyes rolled with an aggravated sigh, fingers reluctantly pressing the device to the side of her head. There was sleep crusted in the corners of her eyes and she had to blink a couple of times to adjust to the darkness.“What do you want, Niall?”

“You see, I’m in this predicament… and I might need someone sober and with a car.”

“Then call a bloody Uber. Who do you think I am?”

“Look, I thought that. But—”

There was rustling on the other side. After some bickering, another voice spoke through the line. 

“Gen, come get this tosser or else he will pass out on my floor. I swear, I’ll lock up with him inside.” 

“How bad is he?” Genevieve was already pushing aside textbooks on her floor in search of a pair of trousers. With one leg inside and the receiver pressed between her cheek and shoulder, she hopped on her bedroom floor. 

“Not good. He is a right mess.”

“I’ll be there in ten. Just keep giving him water, please? Thanks for the ring, Ted.” She knew Niall well enough to know that this wasn’t his bright and shiny idea. If it were up to him, he would pass out on a park bench. 

“Got your number scratched on the wall for a reason.” The click sounded on the other side, then the line dropped afterwards.

It was true. If you looked hard enough you could make out the chicken scratched scribbles right under the faux payphone mounted inside The Cabinet, where the beers were cheap and Niall Horan was reachable at the slightest inconvenience that struck his life. Last week, it was because he had failed his mid-term. This week, the problem was blonde and walking across campus and shared one too many of his courses.

“No, Gen, she’s just too gorgeous, it’s unbelievable. I think I am in love.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s not how it’s supposed to happen, but congrats.” 

Ted adored Niall immensely when he was bringing more business to the pub and getting the word out, not when he was a blubbering mess on the sticky countertops. He sipped his drinks like water to the point that Ted would morph into a psychiatrist. This happened so often that it had become a ritual. The day Niall stopped burdening him with his problems was a day that failed to exist. 

Much like her room, the small flat didn’t have the lights on. Genevieve didn’t need them to navigate her path, her fingers haphazardly pulled on her boots and plucked the bundle of keys from a mug. 

Her car, a well-loved hand-me-down, was nothing lavish. It got her from point A to B without much resistance on good days. Her foot eased on the gas, with the route was well versed and memorized. After a couple of stop signs, her destination would be reached. The streets were empty and not one car was spotted at any intersections. 

A light breeze roamed around and brought goosebumps to the surface of her skin. She should’ve brought a sweater, she thought, as her teeth began to chatter. Her dark hair was haphazardly twisted into a bun and rested on the top of her head. The car door shut behind her as she quickly jogged across the street to where the pub was located. 

The street was lonely. 

There were only a handful of people that would be up at this hour. This subgroup of people definitely did not include her. She thought she was still partly asleep when there was a familiar figure pacing down the sidewalk towards her. Maybe it was the dark, but even after she rubbed her eyes with the heel of her palms, the slope of the person remained familiar. As they got closer, the once blurred image sharpened, and she felt her stomach flip. 

A slight panic arose in Genevieve’s eyes. He was too close of a distance for her to dash through the doors, and it would’ve been clear that she was making a run from him. She doesn’t recall when exactly their encounters began to turn dreadful. But the reality of the situation wasn’t how, it was the fact that they had. This was the second time he stood across from her. The rate of their reunions was at an all time high after years spent apart. It made a heavy weight rest on her chest, her own personal Sisyphus boulder. 

Tiptoeing and maneuvering their way around each other was the hardest part. There wasn’t a book in the world that taught you how to stand across someone that you once spoke to every day. There was a time Genevieve could tell what each tilt, rise, and fall of Harry’s face meant. How do you go from sharing friends, laughter, a life, to becoming nothing short of hollow strangers? As they stood across from each other on an empty street, they only shared blank stares.

“Hi.” His breathing was a bit uneven, and Genevieve saw the beginnings of roses bloom on his cheek under the streetlights. His moose coloured hair was tucked under a beanie and there was a slight stubble on his chin.

“You are running?” Genevieve squinted at him. Navy gym shorts hung off his hips and a full sleeve athletic shirt was on top. “At five in the morning?” 

Genevieve hated how Harry looked brand new. In the midst of a mountain worth of chaos and hurt, how he managed to look shiny, pre-packaged, and unopened was well beyond her. She had to hold herself together with her bare arms when her seems unravelled. Harry was happier before Genevieve and it was something she had to be okay with. There was no specific reason why. It was just how reality worked. 

“By the time I’m done, it will be six. I’ll have to get up anyway.” His shoulders rose and fell in a mindless shrug. Genevieve brought her arms to fold across her chest, her fists cuddled under her armpits to trap heat.

“You’re insane.” Genevieve shook her head. The neon trainers he had on rivalled the brightness of the open sign hung on the doors of The Cabinet. When Genevieve thought she had made enough of an effort at a civil conversation, she turned around to push the heavy glass door. There was nothing else to say to him.

Conversation with Harry wasn’t always a chore. She was able to speak without having to think twice or second guess herself. Now, it seemed like every word led to a dead end of an inescapable maze.

Genevieve accepted that Harry was no longer the person she came to with her favourite songs, books and a cup of tea. She wondered if whatever reminiscent memoir she had in her memory of him served true till today. Her Harry was never the sober driver or the early bird runner. She did not expect him to stay the same. No, that would be cruel. But a small part of her wanted to know if she had known him at all. 

Before her weight gave to the door, his voice chimed up.

“You’re drinking?”

“God no, I’m, um—No. I’m here for a friend.” Genevieve paused, a deep breath circled her lungs and helped her string some words together. “He’s gone a bit over the top.” She chuckled. It wasn’t soft and light, but rather felt like sandpaper. 

“Oh, right. ‘Course.” Harry rubbed at the back of his neck with his fingers. He blinked to the ground, the cracked concrete suddenly became much more of an interest. “I wasn’t— it’s just, I run this route every morning and I never see you and maybe I thought—”

“It’s okay, Harry.” He began to run his fingers through his hair, the beanie scrunched in his left hand. “I really need to help my friend, yeah?” 

“Right, I’ll see you around?”

Genevieve left his question hung in the air like forgotten laundry on a washing line. She thought it was better than saying I hope not. She didn’t want to mention that she tried to avoid him to the best of her ability. Genevieve knew his habits, his patterns. She had knowledge about places he went to, so, naturally, she didn’t. It was a triumph for her to go without months of seeing him. But there was only so much she could do. Juggling probabilities of his whereabouts would never assign her a one hundred percent assurance of erasing him, even with a ninety-nine percent confidence interval.

“Genny?” he called out again. The rational part of her wanted to pretend she didn’t hear him and walk through the door. Instead, she took a breath through her nose and turned around slowly. She wrapped her arms tighter together as the temperature dropped by the second. “Um, do you think we could talk sometime?”

There was a frailness to his voice. He was nervous. Genevieve knew this because he had made a mess of his hair with the number of times his fingers combed it back. 

The next words off her tongue painted a sad smile on his raspberry chapped lips. He looked exhausted, the grey shadows under his eyes beckoned her to not beat around the bush.

“We are talking, Harry.”

Confrontation was a foreign concept to Genevieve. Brushing it under the rug and forgetting about it seemed the best way for her. If it is out of sight, it will be out of mind. But Harry had other plans. He wanted to strip the house down and uncover every corner Genevieve thought to be her hiding spot. It was an intrusion and she didn’t want him to come knocking down doors. 

“No, I mean—”

“It was nice seeing you,” she said, her mouth set into a thin, straight line as she held eye contact. They were still the same deep green with golden flecks. She had seen them angry, hopeful, teary, but right now they were desperate.

The slight tilt to her head told Harry not to push it. To leave things as they were. He served as a walking reminder of loss and all the things she wanted to forget. Their situation did not have to go back to a normal distribution; their data was skewed, and the standard deviation was large enough to wedge a significant distance from their past to present.

Change was good, even if it was different. Over time, the further apart she was from him the better it was for her. And she hoped it was the same for him.  

No one warned Genevieve that holding a grudge required discipline and so much energy. She felt drained, her bones became weak enough they could snap in half. There was no brochure that outlined the ins and out of the process. Your brain worked overtime to disguise clenched jaws and tight fists without any compensation.

On the surface, everything appeared smooth and stonelike. Beneath, lied the hot white anger. That type of anger was something no one wanted to intentionally claim; it was an orphan. It builds and builds and builds until you cannot see through it. You’re blinded, you’re revengeful. 

“Yeah.” Harry swallowed a lump in his throat. He teetered on the balls of his feet and toes with his bottom lip caged between his teeth. He was debating on what to say next, and Genevieve wished it would be something short and quick. She wanted him to say a casual goodbye that was heard between strangers in a coffee shop or book store. Something that didn’t make her want to burst into a river of tears. “One more thing.”

“Hm?”

“Nice shirt.” There was a quirk to one side of his mouth where a dimple had coined itself on his cheek. It was an innocent compliment. Something a friend might say to another. Before she could give a reply, he had turned around and broken into a light jog.

Genevieve watched his figure become muddy until the darkness hid him completely. It was an odd thing to say, her appearance was something she could give less of a shit about at five in the morning. She had literally gotten out in the clothes she slept in. 

Genevieve brushed his words off. She wanted a dry goodbye and he delivered. It was nothing more.

Without thinking twice, she pushed the doors open and warmth from inside greeted her. The pub remained looking the same since she had walked in with her two best mates three years before. It was a hole in the wall, fixed in between a thrifting and convenience store. It littered with mismatched chairs and alcohol stains, a pool table and dart boards lined the further corner, and a random sports channel glowed on the box TV. Niall’s blond hair was easily spotted; it laid on the century old cherry wood bar. The posture his back was slumped on the stool insured neck cramps.

The doors behind the bar came swinging open as the bells above chimed of her entrance. A rag rested on his shoulder and he wore a well loved band shirt from his touring days. For someone who was found frowning on most days, Ted beamed a smile at Genevieve. 

“Good! You’re here!” His shoulders dropped in relief as she made her way closer to her friend. “He’s been miserable.”

“Gen? Is that you?” Niall grumbled from his position. “Oh, shut it, Ted. You’re giving me no option but to take my money elsewhere,” Niall slurred as he lifted his head off the wood. There were lines indented on his cheek from his possible snooze. 

“Those are empty words.” Ted rolled his eyes easily and used his rag to clean up the surface that Niall previously occupied. 

“You know what else is empty, Theodore? This glass!” It rattled against the countertop when Niall dramatically set it down. 

Ted’s shoulders shook as he chuckled, crinkles lining the corners of his eyes. “I’m not pouring you another drop, mate.”

“Who said it was for me? Have you seen Gen? She looks proper in need of a few.”

With a deep sigh, Genevieve took the stool beside Niall. Her head slowly turned to scan the pub. A place that was the heart of loud laughter and cheers was dimmed down since they were the only ones. With her elbows propped up on the counter, she pressed her index fingers to her temples. 

“You do look a bit poorly. Under the weather?”

“No, not at the moment,” she sighed.

“Well, you look like shit,” Niall blurted.

“Thanks, Niall, really.” Genevieve glared with a frown. “Remind me to never do a kind thing for you ever again. Sorry I wasn’t in full glam when you called at ass crack of dawn.”

“Did you see a ghost or something? You look sick.” Niall squinted his eyes and pinched her cheek between his thumb and index finger. It was rather quickly slapped away with a snarl. “Ouch!”

“Nothing a pint can’t cure.” A tall glass slid in front of Genevieve. Condensation dripped and pooled on the counter. The frothy foam rested on top and sat at the rim without tipping over. “On the house.” 

A Stella didn’t sound like a bad idea to Genevieve. She felt like she deserved one. After all, two encounters with the person she disliked the most was beginning to become exhausting. The car keys weighed down in her pocket, her bones ached and her temples pulsed. A tired yawn stretched her face as the drink laid rested on the cherry wood. 

Niall scoffed as Genevieve stared at the drink for a moment too long. “If you don’t take it, I will!” 

His fingers crept to grasp the glass, and Genevieve batted his greedy hands away. “Paws off, Niall.”

A cold drink couldn’t hurt, she decided. The first sip eased the tense muscles in her shoulders. Niall found a basket of chips to pick at in the meantime. He probably ordered them to soak up his alcohol intake.

Genevieve could hear Ted in the kitchen. The shifting of pots and pans meant that he was officially closing up for the night. She thought the least she could do was flip the remaining barstools on the counter. 

In the two seconds that she had abandoned her glass, she had turned to see Niall gulping like fish.

“No more!” He made a strangled sound as the rim was pulled from his lips. “Don’t need your puke in my car.”

Genevieve threw back what was left of the drink. “You could just pull the window down and I’ll mind me business.”

Genevieve squinted her eyes to catch a better look at Niall and she noticed he was turning a few shades greener. He had on a dopey grin and his eyes were almost shut. Niall became whiny when he got sick, and if Genevieve were to let that happen in the pub there would be no chance of him leaving.

“How about we get you to an actual sink, yeah?”

With an arm thrown over her shoulder and Niall almost near collapsing on her, she yelled a farewell to Ted. He was more preoccupied with rubbing the stove clean but he got the message, yelling muffled goodbye of his own.

The car parked across the street never felt further away. Niall was in his own world, mumbling some drunk words into her hair. Genevieve caught some that thanked her for taking care of him. She took each step slowly. 

Getting Niall into the passenger seat was a process, one she thought she had got down pat. She had done everything as planned, put his head to the right, made sure he had enough room to stretch his legs and of course, double checked to see if he had his phone and wallet on him. Apparently, this was taking too long and Niall reached over to slam the door shut.

Genevieve had jumped back just in time that no fingers were caught between doors. She sighed in relief before shooting a glare at Niall. He looked at the fabric that stretched from her stomach. “Oops?” 

Genevieve rolled her eyes at Niall, who burst into giggles because it turned out everything was more hilarious at 5:00 a.m. She tugged at the material.

It was old and ratty. It was two sizes too big and hung off her frame, there were stains, holes, some she never remembered putting in herself. It took her a moment, with the fabric bunched between her digits, the gears in her brain set into place. The sharp intake of breath hit the back of her throat and the air on the street suddenly froze.

***

October 27, 2019

“It’s stupid, Gen.” The clicking of a game controller didn’t halt. The animated character on the screen ran towards a glowing torch. Jonah adjusted the headpiece he had on over his ears, probably muting himself so the other kids wouldn’t hear Genevieve lecture him. Beside him sat a bowl of finished popcorn on the sofa, like his player two, and unpopped kernels rattled every time he enthusiastically surged towards the TV screen.  

“This is due in two days, Jonah,” Genevieve emphasized. She had unzipped his backpack. His agenda was hard to read, his chicken scratch writing almost made Genevieve mistake a significant date for scribbles. It was for his English class, something that he had yet to mention, which Genevieve found odd because he always told her about his school work. Okay, it was more like Genevieve made sure he told her, but same thing regardless. “How are you planning on starting and editing and finishing it?”

She knew better than to talk to boys in the middle of a game. There was no use. Her experience regarding it only went one way, everything went in one ear and out the other. It was fascinating, really; their eyes would glaze over and for a short ten minutes the real world wouldn’t exist. They would become so immersed in whatever universe was in front of them. It had been once explained to Genevieve as almost the same thing as reading a good book, but with the exception that the player was put in charge of the main character’s decisions. 

His tongue poked out at the side and the Playstation keys were innocent victims to his quick jabs. His shoulders deflated when the message on the screen informed him of the scoreboard. He grumbled something under his breath before his miniature joystick highlighted the option to opt for another round. “I’ll edit it while I’m writing it.” He shrugged mindlessly. 

“I’m being serious.”

“I am too.” 

“What’s up with you? You usually love finishing your assignments for Mrs. Yu’s class.”

“Look how stupid the prompt is,” Jonah grumbled. Genevieve’s fingers were already pulling out a crumpled rubric and pressing it flat so it stayed without folding in on itself. Eyes scanned the short blurb of instructions which Jonah soon summarized. “Pick a month and personify it. What type of pretentious—”

“I think it’s very neat. Creative. Have you selected a month yet?” 

“Sure.” His flat tone said otherwise.

Genevieve rolled her eyes at his antics. “If you don’t spend enough time on this, she will give you an easy fifty. That will bring down your average and universities look at that. What will you do then?”

She reached over to the table to take a sip from her water bottle.

The Smalls residence was the same layout when compared to her flat, so it didn’t take long to get familiar to it. Granted, it was more furnished and had Jonah’s gaming consoles already hooked up to use. The latter being the deciding factor of Jonah’s executive decision to procrastinate his work for another week. Usually, Jonah would pop in after school to Genevieve’s, but she had just returned from a shift at the diner and his door was cracked ajar.

Like many days, his father left for the construction site and wouldn’t be back until after dinner, and the only appliance Jonah knew how to use was a microwave. Genevieve had some food which Walter packed for her and it was more than enough to share with a growing boy. His diet was worse than hers. He could go weeks on Pop Tarts and Twizzlers from his cafeteria vending machine. Plus, he wasn’t bad company to have around. 

“Easy. Play the dead mum card. Works like a charm.” 

Genevieve spluttered the water out, coughing since it had gone down the wrong tube. 

“Jonah!”

Her jaw went slack and her eyes widened, a slight worry arose. She wasn’t well versed on the ins and outs of parenting—she preferred to see him as a younger sibling— or child trauma, but even she had a hunch that there was something troubling and incredibly off about the way he had referred to the passing of his mother so nonchalantly. 

“What?” Jonah asked, dumbfounded. 

“You can’t just say stuff like that!”

“‘Course I can. You have no idea the amount of pity and sympathy they throw at your feet. At first, I despised it, because obviously I wasn’t a knocked over puppy like they were making me out to be.” His character on the screen jumped to deflect an obstacle. A triumph smile was the direct result. “But then, I was like what the hell, you know? Like if it’s there already, why not play my cards right and score some sort of advantage from it?”

Genevieve blinked. She tilted her head to attempt understanding his analogy. 

“Well, that sure is one way to look at it,” she said after a short pause. “But I am not gonna let you do that to Mrs. Yu. Something tells me you’ve already done it one too many times.”

He paused his game and finally turned to her, giving her more than his side profile at last. A hellish grin split his face. “How else do you think I got a month extension on that book report and a perfect score on our last quiz?”

“I don’t know… I had assumed hard work and honesty?”

“Wake up, Gen! This is the real world and the rules are different in this game!” 

“Alright, bud, you’re cut off from this game.” Genevieve pushed the power button on the TV remote that laid limply to her right. The screen became black with a click. Jonah’s back hit the backrest of the sofa, the bouncy cushion slightly propelled him further before absorbing his weight. “Let’s at least get started on a rough copy, how does that sound?”

He groaned with his head tilted back and eyes shut. “Excruciating, torturous, maybe illegal.”  

“I’m asking you to get a start on your project, not abducting you.” His pace to grab the rest of his belongings from the table two meters away from him could rival a snail. “Now, do you have a month in mind?”

“I was thinking maybe like February, December, or even October.” He opened an empty page in his notebook and clicked the top of his mechanical pencil to give away some lead. “Because, like, it will be easy to build a character off them because they all have some sort of festive holiday thing to them.”

“That’s a great start. But don’t you think it’s a bit expected? It is a creative piece, so let’s maybe brainstorm something out of the box. Try picking a month that doesn’t have a holiday attached to it.”

He sighed deeply through his nose. The thought of putting in a smidge bit of effort was like pulling teeth.

Jonah had started to doodle in the margins. He drew three tallies, evenly spread, and added another row of them. He then connected them in a way which Genevieve recognizes to be the symbol on a superhero’s chest. 

“August?” 

Genevieve swallowed a bug.

“Why did you pick that? What significance does it have to you?” Genevieve doesn’t miss a beat, it aided to mask her surprise. 

“Well, I don’t know!” He throws his hands up exasperatedly. “You said pick one, so I did.” He pointed out, his tone reminded Genevieve of how a middle schooler says “duh”. 

“Come on. Think a bit.” 

“It’s like... sort of like the last month of summer and it brings in fall. Which is the season where we witness life slip away, but barely because it happens so slowly.” 

Genevieve’s heart swells for two reasons. Jonah was a bright kid, well beyond his age. It was something he hid and purposefully tried his utmost best not to let shine through. Genevieve had guessed the reason behind his reluctance was mainly because Jonah was at that age where he just wanted to fit in and not stand out like a sore thumb. But every once in a blue moon, he would slip up. When he allowed himself to think out loud, his ideas lined in a way where it wasn’t just the tip of the iceberg anymore. The depth gave away his brilliance. 

The first time Genevieve was left speechless by him was when he analyzed one of his favourite comic book characters with an intensity that put the burning sun to shame. Then again when he asked her to edit his essay on a world issue. And once more when he asked her how to approach a girl in his science class that he clearly fancied. Genevieve tried to define this tendency of his as a recurring variable in Jonah’s equation. 

In many more ways than one, August held an importance like no other to Genevieve. It was a month that was easily overlooked because it was caught in a war for attention between the summer months and upcoming winter holidays. Its propinquity to strong competition was something that made it easy to forget. If it was a person, she was sure it would be a quiet boy around her age. Probably with a penchant for befriending girls and breaking hearts so slowly that you don’t even know it’s happening. 

Genevieve hummed in agreement with Jonah. 

“Go on.”

“Let’s say if I were to go with this month, I wouldn’t focus on death because that would be something colder, like December or January or like the first snowfall.” His pencil sounded against his notebook. A string of notes were effortlessly coming together as Jonah continued. He suddenly stopped writing and his face scrunched in thought as he stared at the blank TV screen with as much focus that could convince you it was on. “I think August is knowing you’re losing someone or something without the assurance of finding them again... and letting it deliberately happen.”

“Isn’t that almost death?” Genevieve raised a brow. 

“Almost, but not quite.” He tapped his pencil to the metal like coils that ran down the side. “August is loss, parting away. You know, something along the lines of donating old clothes, a friend becoming a stranger, even placing car keys somewhere different.”

Genevieve knew exactly what he was talking about. She couldn’t really describe the feeling of losing a friend in words with sharp precision. It was the same as repeating a word again and again until it came to the point you deluded yourself into thinking it belongs to another language completely.  

Jonah peered up, awaiting a response or another prompt to further his development. Instead, Genevieve smiled sadly and shakes her head. 

“What?!”

“Nothing.” She laughed softly, a bit winded.

There was just something about him that was light years ahead. Something so pure and good and applaudable that made you think about the character that so many adults lacked and how it was sitting in front of you in a corked up bottle of a preteen boy. He had lost his mother, his father wasn’t around, he didn’t have many friends at school, and he picked the month of August. He had hit the nail on what it was so eloquently that Genevieve could burst into tears. But she refrained, instead opted to narrow her eyes jokingly his way.

“You’re just too smart for your own good, is all.”

That night she went to sleep thinking about August.

How he probably wore wrinkled shirts so effortlessly, with his hair in a gentle disarray. People would make a note to comment on his ridiculously long eyelashes, but she favoured his eyes. They were round and shiny and reminded her of a cloudy marble, the colour of slate. He was charming but had an air of coyness about him that was inviting and deliberate. With skin the colour of oat and a smile like rain, it came or it didn't, he was a knockout. She hypothesized the variable that contributed to his allure had less to do with his looks and more with how he made you feel. 

He made you feel wanted, he made you feel like you were someone. 

***

October 31, 2016

It didn’t take long for Genevieve to spot him, his back was slouched against the red brick wall of a tall building. A pair of old wayfarers sat on the bridge of his nose and his arms pretzeled over his chest easily. His jaw went slack then tight, this pattern repeated like clockwork until Genevieve got close enough to notice he was working a piece of gum lazily. With his head tilted to the sky and one leg crossed over the other, he was imitating textbook boredom. 

“Do you have it?” Dried leaves crunched beneath the sole of his boots as he unravelled his legs and stood up straighter than before as Genevieve’s figure approached near. She could tell he was raising his brows, but they didn’t make an appearance, still hidden behind his frames.

“Yeah.” Genevieve dipped her index finger and thumb to the front right side pocket of her jeans. It took some wiggling to pluck out a piece of metal, smooth on one side and teeth jagged on the other. The metal was warm when dropped into his open palm. “Why the sudden need for it? Have you finally taken up my advice on actually locking your doors yet?”

It was natural for him to give Genevieve a spare key, a strategy that had served him well on multiple occasions. He had lost his more than once within the span of the first two months of getting his flat. This habit had come to a point that recovery was not an option; he preferred to keep his door unlocked anyway. Genevieve pointed out it was a safety hazard, but he liked to call it being efficient. In between locking himself out or forgetting his own key, Genevieve was a dependable solution.

“Not quite, don’t get too ahead of yourself.” She had seen his long black eyelashes hit the inside of his sunglasses, a clear indicator of him rolling his eyes. “I need it for a friend. He doesn’t have a place to stay for a while, and I offered the couch. Are you done with your lectures for the day?”

“I’m afraid not. Got one more and I’m free,” Genevieve sighed defeatedly. She shifted her bag from her right shoulder to the left. Today, she only had her laptop and one textbook, but the strap of her bag still created red dents on her shoulders from the weight. “Did you end up going to your tutorial?”

He gave her a look that was enough of an answer. His glasses rose on his face as a result of him scrunching his nose up in disgust. The tips of his mouth pulled downwards as sourness glazed his features. 

“If it’s before noon, I’m not going; you know this, Genny.” He rubbed his nose with the back of his finger. “Can I tempt you to skip by offering the first round at The Cabinet?”

“It’s like…” Genevieve glanced at her wrist watch. “One.”

“I’m not hearing a no.” He grinned, a smile pressed deeply into his face. “Come on, Gen! You’ll get to meet my pal too. I think you’ll get along really well. And Ted is offering half off today. It’s a win-win. What could be more important than good company?”

“Dynamic Systems Differential Equations, unfortunately.” The course name was a mouthful and her dull tone was enough insight into what it was like.

“That sounds like a migraine.”

“Oh, you don’t know the half of it.” She laughed sans humour already picturing the formulas needed for her practice problems. “Speaking of migraines, what are we doing as costumes for Hannah Morton’s party?”

He squinted his eyes and paused for a moment. Migraine Morton was a nickname that stuck onto the bottom of your sneaker like chewing gum. “Is that tonight?” 

“Well it is the thirty-first of October.” Her arms stretched to gesture towards the building she had exited from. “Do the carved pumpkins and the stick on ghost figures not make that obvious enough?”

“Fuck, I don’t know.” He winced in reply to her previous question. A fingernail scratched at the corner of his forehead. “I was thinking of piggybacking off whatever you’re dressed as.”

Genevieve’s brows creased and her head tilted. “What do you mean?” 

“If you’re Frankenstein, I’ll be the doctor.” He pointed to Genevieve and then to himself. “Bonnie, Clyde. Sherlock, Watson.” 

“You want to go coordinating? Isn’t that a bit…”

“What?” He prompted with a laugh spluttering from his lips. It was fresh and bright, and Genevieve didn’t know exactly when it would stop sounding like this. He had amusement glittering in his gaze, there was a youthfulness about him that was so prominent and bold. He leaned closer. “Are you too cool to go coordinating now? Don’t tell me you can’t sit beside me at the lunch table too.”

It was ironic because they both knew Genevieve had always chose him to split her fruit roll-up candy since pre-school. In return, he would never pick up the red smarties whenever they shared a pack because those were her favourite, despite the number of times you told her the colour doesn’t affect the taste. 

“I don’t know, a bit coupley? I mean, it worked well when we were eight. Would you think Hannah would mind?” 

To this, he scoffed.

“Of course not, don’t be ridiculous. Why would she?”

“She’s clearly into you, like a lot, and I don’t want to get in the middle of that. And I hear she’s going around saying that she’s your girlfriend.”

He closed his eyes gently and breathes out a sigh. “She’s not my—”

“I know that! You know that! But does she?” 

His phone buzzed and the question hung in the air until his fingers stopped their dance on the screen. He looked over her shoulder as if waiting for someone. 

“Doesn’t matter, she will soon enough.” He shrugged, his voice was distracted and far away. And that was one thing about him that Genevieve couldn’t shake off no matter how hard she tried. He broke hearts knowingly, and did it anyway. “What time do you want me to come pick you up?”

“I’m done with class at five. I’ll have to stop by Party City at six, then do my modules so that will take me till nine, then I—” Rolling tires sounded loudly against the pavement as they approached behind her. The closer they got, the less time she had to finish her train of thought. The radio was a few notches down from its max setting.

“Be ready at nine. No later.” He gripped her shoulders with both hands, brought her close and pressed a messy kiss against her hair. He smelled of cigarettes and toothpaste and beer. 

“No, I won’t be, I have to do my laundry and—”

“Great. Sounds good. I’ll see you then.” 

And he was gone. He opened and shut the passenger side of the beat up Honda Civic in two seconds. The driver was familiar to Genevieve, it was another blonde, not Hannah, with thick eyeliner. She was a regular turn up at every monotonous party thrown each weekend. She had seen her get too close to him on more than one instance. He convinced Genevieve to poke in at a few, but the scene was like a broken record and her lack of interest dwindled in them too quickly.

It once even prompted her to bring her textbook to do practice problems to keep her from falling asleep as drunk students lit up a joint around her. Every once in a while he would trap grey smoke in his cheeks and blow it directly on her face to elicit a scowl, something he found beyond hilarious when his inhibitions weren’t intact. 

The girl’s hair was knotted and she had a less than pleased demeanour, probably nursing a hangover of her own. She stomped her foot down on the gas. He didn’t even have his seatbelt done before their bodies lurched backwards and the car zoomed out from the parking lot of the mathematical sciences department building. The radio became only a faint sound away the longer Genevieve stood there. 

By the time she got to Party City, the student working behind the counter gave her an apologetic look. All the decent costumes were sold out. He led her to the back of the store where the remaining costumes were kept. Being a university student meant she couldn’t break the bank for something so trivial. In the plastic bin lied a pair of fangs and a deflated witches hat that had a tear near the rim. There were masks, but she would be better off by taking a paintbrush to her face. 

She sighed deeply, her lips pursing in thought. It was obvious her plans of coordinating were a dream far away. That was until she turned around. 

A long hat cowered in the corner. It had thick red and white stripes, she pictured it with eyeliner drawn whiskers and a cat ear headband from last year. Maybe even a red bow around her neck. What really sealed the deal for her was the red shirt hung on a hanger right above it. It had a white circle right in the dead centre. The font within the circle was a recognizable outfit from a famous children’s book character. Bonnie and Clyde, Sherlock and Watson, and now Cat in the Hat and Thing 1.

The relief that came along with not trying to maneuver creating an outfit at home was enough to get Genevieve to run to the till. Arts and crafts were not her strongest suits.

The same guy’s eyebrows shot up, surprised at her quick decision making. He shut his latest issue of Men’s Healthy Living and leaned his weight off his elbow. He scanned the items and Genevieve handed him the crisp bill. Before he could finalize the sale, Genevieve thought back to the couch friend that would be accompanying them tonight. Did he have a costume? Inferring from the fact that he didn’t have a roof of his own, a lousy Halloween costume was the least of his worries. But Genevieve found her feet trailing back towards the shop and grabbing the shirt that said Thing 2. The guy added it to her final bill and packed her belongings in a black plastic bag. 

He was late and Genevieve was thankful that her laundry was dry and folded neatly. 

---

© 2019 almondharry All Rights Reserved

Okay, I think I’m done introducing the main characters. We have quite the cast list, don’t we?

Let me know what u think! I’d love to hear your favourite parts and predictions!

Thank you eriza @booksncoffee for the banner! 

Thank you so much to my wonderful betas @adoremp3 @haaaaaaarrry @drivingmekiwi @at-least-im-1 Ayesha and Hamna! Without them, this would be a jumble of fucked up grammar bc I write at 3am. If you want to beta, shoot me a message!

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[thewildwaffle]

Abduction - Chapter 20

I’m on a roll! I don’t think I’ve posted a chapter a week since I started working full-time! Hopefully, the creative juices keep flowing! As always, comments, questions, critique, input, and feedback of any kind is very much welcomed!

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There were a lot of humans.

Well, a lot of humans meaning there were more than two. That was more than she’d ever seen in one place! Thurrin knew under normal circumstances, she’d be ecstatic to see and meet them. But they reminded her so much of Mike and Wenona that it made her heart ache a little.

Still, bookas aren’t anything if not curious.

She’d flit around different work areas where human crew members were stationed, listening in and watching as they’d help repair navigation systems of ships, fetch equipment, or lift and carry heavy replacement parts as they were installed. They were amazing! She’d heard humans were strong, but she’d never seen anything like this before. Not only that, but they seemed to be tireless. Other mechanic teams around them had to constantly trade off tasks to rest and recuperate. Not the humans though. They’d finish one task and simply move on to the next, and the next, and the next. In a matter of seemingly no time, the small cruiser one particular group had been repairing that used to look like scrap heap material became pristine!

“Wow,” she muttered under her breath as she padded closer. There were three humans and a robot that must have been from the planet Klox if the shape of it was anything to go by. It had a similar build to its human companions but had stockier legs, a short tail, and four long, spindly arms. As she got closer, one of the humans turned and noticed her sneaking up on them.

“Hey Vern, finally show up now that the work’s done, huh? Typica… oh,” the human finally got a better look at her. “Oh, you’re not Vern.” The other three in the group turned around to get a look at who their friend was talking to.

Not the least bit shy, Thurrin jumped up on a nearby step stool and leaned back on her haunches. “Uh, no. My name’s Thurrin. I’m sorry to bother you, I was just admiring your work.” That earned her three wide, toothy grins in the style that humans do, and one pair of shuttered optics from the Kloxan. “I’ve never seen so many humans in one place before, well, actually, I don’t think I’ve ever seen this many humans… ever!”

“Well, it’s our pleasure to meet you Thurrin. This is is Kylee, over there’s Ricardo, and that handsome bot over there is Clout.”

The first human, the female he had pointed to, Kylee was tall and had yellowish hair with streaks of purple in it that was pulled back tight in what Thurrin thought was called a ‘ponytail.’ Ricardo was quite a bit shorter with dark eyes and skin that reminded Thurrin of Wenona. They each nodded and gave a little wave as their names were said. Clout placed his two left hands on his chassis and gave a subtle bow, as was the formal greeting custom of kloxans. Or at least, she supposed it was.

“And I am Vern, a pleasure to meet you.” Vern gave a deep, exaggerated bow. He had, by far, the darkest skin of all the humans that Thurrin now knew. How exciting, she thought. I wonder how many colors humans come in? But what an interesting name-

“Vern?” She cocked her head to the side.

“His name’s actually Vernon,” clarified Clout, “but he hates it. So we only call him that when he’s being annoying.”

“Which is often,” smirked Kylee. That earned her a shove from Vern. Thurrin watched, amused, but still puzzled.

“Yeah, no. It’s Vern, thank you. Or Human Vern. We have a booka on the crew named Vern. Apparently, it’s a pretty common name for booka?” Thurrin nodded. It was. She grew up with three Verns back home when she was just a kit. “ Yeah, well, it can get confusing, so sometimes we have to do the formal greeting thing with the species in the name, ya know, Human Vern, Booka Vern.”

Ricardo shrugged his shoulders, “Doesn’t help that you two are almost always together.”

“Yeah,” Human Vern nodded and picked up a nearby rag to wipe his hands that were still coated in the oils and fluids from the ship’s engine. “So I thought you were him. He wandered off over half an hour ago and hasn’t been back since, the little stink bomb.”

With his hand now mostly clean, Human Vern reached it out to Thurrin and held it tilted to the side, palm up. Mike did that when they first met. It must be some sort of greeting thing all humans did. She patted his outstretched hand and looked over the rest of the group.

“Are all of you on the same crew? Which ship did you arrive on?”

Kylee turned and pointed across the docking bay towards a large light gray and orange ship that was currently having several large crates unloaded and hauled to various work stations.

“That one over there. The Maywing. She was on her maiden voyage when Captain Fenz got the transmission that we needed to load up with as many tools, spare parts, and rations as we could carry and come here.”

“What about you? Thurrin, right?” Vern turned back to her. She nodded. “Which ship is yours?”

The conversation settled into comparisons of their ships, what their individual duties were, how long they’d each been part of the Galactic Confederation fleet, how they got along with the rest of their crew, etc. Thurrin smiled to herself as she listened to the humans interact and joke as they recounted their stories. The kloxan was a little more reserved, but she could tell they all enjoyed each other’s companionship.

It was, in a way, bittersweet. She was really starting to like these humans. She wondered if Mike and Wenona would like them too. Probably. Vern and Kylee reminded her a lot of Mike. Wenona was actually a little more like Clout, reserved and watchful, but she’d probably be happy to see other humans.

The sound of clattering metal and scurrying paws drew the group’s attention. Another booka was sprinting on all fours towards them, knocking over whatever happened to be in his way as he skidded around corners.

He was big, Thurrin noticed. At least, big for a booka, who were on the shorter side of average height in the Galactic lineup. She remembered Wenona once said that she and the other booka aboard the Gladius were about the size of a bobcat, which was a creature back on Earth. She didn’t really know if that was a good comparison or not at the time. She did look it up later and agreed they were pretty close. Though the poor creatures had no long, gorgeous tail! How sad!

The yellow flames of the approaching booka’s long fur were currently yellow-orange. It looked soft. He must groom it very well, Thurrin thought.

“Vern!” Human Vern yelled out, “Where the heck have you been?”

Booka Vern slid to a stop and rose to stand on his back legs, panting as he tried to catch his breath. “Sorry for… being gone so long… I passed by… I passed and… I saw…”

“Okay, Vern,” Kylee interrupted, “just breathe. Catch your breath first, then talk.”

While Vern gasped in air, Thurrin took the opportunity to look him over. Not only was he big in size, but he was also looking a little big around the middle. Probably the reason he was so out of breath now. His ears were large and wide set. The tips of fur on top of his head had curly flames flickering up. The tufts of fur around his neck were so thick, it almost looked like a mane. Some bookas did grow out their fur like that. Thurrin wasn't too big a fan of the look but on him… well, she had to admit he seemed to make it work. It was a little old-fashioned, but...

Oh, who was she kidding? He made it look super classy. Vern was flarging handsome!

“You doing alright there, buddy?” Ricardo leaned down slightly to get a better look at his crewmate.

“I… I passed by the rec room on level… level three and they had a bunch of monitors going. There were tons of people there, so I wanted to see what was going on. They’re all displaying the same thing, I think it’s an open stream. Everyone and I mean everyone is watching it. Not just here. Everywhere!”

“Vern,” Clout vented air through his systems in a sigh, “do you mean to tell us you sloughed work so you could watch some show someone probably hacked into the broadcast for?”

“Oooh, was it the Olympics?” Kylee’s eyes lit up. “Are we finally getting the signal for them? I’ve been waiting forever for them to be approved to run in the Galactic AV Stream!”

“No, no, it’s not that - it’s the Burnti Empire! They’ve hacked into the stream, every channel. They’re sending a message to the entire galaxy!”

***

This wasn’t good.

This could be a serious blow to the Galactic Confederation.

Thurrin sat back on the cushion she’d been sitting on. The original stream had come through a solar cycle ago. She’d watched the entire interview seven times now. She… she wasn’t quite sure what to think.

On one paw, she was happy to see that Mike was okay. He was alive! Oh she wanted to jump around and shout, “He’s alive! He’s alive!” She wasn’t on the screen, but if Mike was alive and well, maybe Wenona was too? Or what if Mike was the only one on the screen because he was the only survivor! No, hopes were too high now to think that - if Mike made it, then so did Wenona! Thurrin refused to believe anything else.

Oh, they were alive!

Then her brain started coming up with questions.

Were they alright? What were they doing with the Burnti? Had the Burnti hurt them? Did Mike and Wenona fight back? Where were they right now? How was she going to get them back?

Then she had started really listening to the interview.

Her heart felt like it had been ripped from her chest and squeezed tightly. What was he saying? He blamed the Galactic Confederation for his and Wenona’s abduction. That… no. What? That’s not what had… Had the events before her crew rescued them frazzled their memories somehow? Maybe he wasn’t remembering things, right?

No. That was a stupid idea.

Maybe Mike had been brainwashed by the Burnti. That would make a little more sense. But was that even possible to do? It was very unlikely, but did anything else make sense? What else could get Mike- her Mike- her friend Mike to say what she was now hearing come across on the stream?

She wasn’t the only one having a hard time understanding what was going on. All around the room, conversations broke out, some less hushed than others. Some less civil than others. One such group included the humans she had just been talking happily with from before.

“Do you mean to tell me he’s sending a secret message while also being interviewed?” One of the Rock Base crew- a long-necked speckled daydam- ranted, “I know you humans are supposed to be these great multi-taskers, but that’s outlandish even for you. He’s just blinking because he can’t see. He’s under a lot of lights, I’m sure. There are very few species that can see properly under those conditions.

“Humans can!” Retorted Kylee. “We do it all the time. He’s not just blinking because it’s too bright, he’s blinking a code!”

This had been going on for a while until their “conversation” had erupted into an all-out shouting match. One by one, other groups around them quieted down to watch and listen in. They soon had the attention of everyone in the room.

“What’s all this? What’s going on?” Captain Salora stepped into the conversation. The yelling daydam dipped his head respectfully at her arrival.

“Captain Salora Akeno, we were discussing the recording from the Burnti Empire. You’ve seen it, I presume?”

“Of course I have,” she waved her claws, a bit irritated. “Everyone has. You were doing a bit more than merely ‘discussing’ it. Care to share your conversation?”

“Hey,” hummed one of the daydam’s alien’s companions, “Wasn’t that human one that you had on your ship? What is all this? Do you have any idea what he could ruin? This could lead to all-out war! I can’t believe you and your crew-”

He was cut short by a dangerous glare from Captain Salora. His companion elbowed him to stand down.

“Apologies, Captain Salora Akeno,” the first daydam muttered. Its short fur was standing on edge in several places, making it look very ruffled and disheveled. “These humans claim that your human… Mike… is sending some sort of code during the interview. It’s preposterous! The reasons they’re giving are unfounded and farfetched.”

“No, it’s true, just look at him!” Kylee interrupted and pointed at the closest display screen where a close up of Mike was answering questions about the great times he had been having aboard the Arum Bloom. Captain Salora had to admit, he did seem to be blinking a lot. It was very strange.

“I’m telling you, that’s normal for many species under bright lights. You’re just trying to find an excuse for this betrayal because he’s also human! We all know how humans pack bond with each other.”

“Are you freakin’ kidding me?” Kylee was shouting again. “Does it physically hurt you to be that stupid?” Ricardo and Human Vern each put a hand on her shoulders, but she brushed them off and stepped up so that she was nearly face to neck with the Rock Base Crewmember. “I don’t know this guy from Adam! But if he’s doing what I think he’s doing, he’s more a hero than you could ever hope to be in your entire life!”

“And what, exactly,” interrupted Salora before the two broke out into an all-out brawl, “do you think he’s doing? You said he’s using some sort of code?”

“Morse code, Ma’am,” interjected Ricardo. “It’s a type of binary code from Earth. We think the patterns he’s blinking are in Morse code.”

The long-necked alien snorted. “Again, all while also holding a conversation with the urma interviewing him?”

“It’s called multi-tasking,” Kylee growled, “We’re great at it. For instance, while we’ve been talking, I’ve been tolerating your special brand of idiocy, watching this Mike possibly risk his life on the screen, and calculating how many vats of fermented gent entrails I’ll need to fill up your personal quarters once we’re done here!”

Thurrin watched as Captain Salora sighed deeply and rubbed her temples with the blunt of her claws. As an akeno, the captain was very patient. It was a very famous quality many of akenos had, but even she had a limit.

Thurrin padded closer to the group. “The Morse code he’s blinking,” she began. All eyes looked down to her, “do you… does anyone know what he’s saying?”

Everyone turned back to the display. It was at a wide shot now, but it soon went back to switching between close-ups of Urma Kalabretti Esh and Mike, who continued blinking strangely. Could it really be code? If so, what message could he be so intent on sending to the entire galaxy?

“Hmmm… Vern took a closer look. “I’m not sure. I don’t really know Morse code. Ricardo?”

Ricardo’s dark brown eyes studied Mike closely. “Not really, but… there! That was an S. And, oh, that’s an O! Uh…” he kept watching but shook his head. “Those are really the only letters I know. Everyone knows SOS in Morse code.”

“Captain Salora,” the second long-necked alien complained, “Don’t tell me you believe any of this nonsense!”

She ignored him and instead turned her focus back on the three humans. “Which ship are you from? Who is your captain?”

“Captain Fenz, Ma’am, of the ESS Maywing,” said Ricardo.

Captain Salora nodded thoughtfully. “I know Captain Fenz. I believe he’d be alright if I borrowed you for a bit Human…” she paused.

“Ricardo.”

“Human Ricardo,” she repeated. She turned to the other two. “If you would, let Captain Fenz know I am taking Ricardo from his duties for a few moortiks.” Kylee and Vern nodded. “Right. You’re excused then. Human Ricardo, if you would follow me please.”

As she and Ricardo started for the door, Captain Salora nodded at Thurrin. “Thurrin, you might as well come too. I know you will anyway.”

Thurrin’s fur blushed a slight shade of red. She bounded after her captain and new human friend on all fours, trying to keep up with their brisk pace.

Previous Chapter             Next Chapter

[jhgraham]

Does Leia ever just throw her hands up (after Han catches her secretly watching him), and say Fine! You happy now?

Sorry for the late response on this one, but y’know…life. But then someone (ahem… @jennycbs ) tagged me in this, which got me thinking about Han’s finer assets again, and after a night out with one or two glasses of wine…well, let’s just say it sets up a chain reaction that never fails to set my mind on a rather lascivious track. 

The answer is:  Hell, no. Leia’s a cagey one, and too intelligent to get caught. And even if she did, he’d never openly admit to checking Han out; knowing him as she does, she knows that she’d never hear the end of it. There was that one time though, where she slipped up and almost gave herself away. I hear it went something like this. 

Chewing at the inside of her cheek, Leia jammed her hands into the pockets of her military trousers and leaned her shoulder against the Falcon’s rear landing strut, trying to look as nonchalant as the situation would allow. It was either that, or stagger blindly toward the open landing ramp to sit down, before her traitorous knees gave out on her entirely. She’d traveled from one end of the known galaxy to another, and seen some incredible things along the way; but at the moment, all of them paled in comparison to the sight of Han Solo, his lean torso streaked with a colourful blend of engine lubricant, hydraulic fluid and gods knew what else, casually stripping off his thin t-shirt right in front of her and tossing it aside before turning back to his work, completely bare from the waist up.

At first, she was a little disappointed that he put his back to her and spoiled the fine view, but she quickly discovered there was as much to admire from this angle as any other. She couldn’t seem to take her eyes off of him. Her gazed roamed over his muscular shoulders and down the clean lines of his back, following the indentation of his spine to the junction where his golden skin met the rough-hewn leather of his belt and his holster rig, slanted low across his slim hips. When he sank to a crouch to rummage through the tool chest at his feet, the already low rise of his trousers dipped down just a little further, and Leia was suddenly grateful for the noisy bluster of the hangar that muted the hiss of her involuntary indrawing of breath. She stood up straight, her eyes immediately riveted to the spot like a laser locked on target, and she swallowed hard past a throat gone suddenly dry.

Han Solo had back dimples.

Of course he does, her inner voice lamented. It wasn’t enough that the sight of the handsome Corellian in skin-tight trousers at the culmination of the Rogue’s laundry caper had left its indelible mark upon her visual cortex; why not add a lasting image of those two perfectly shaped, perfectly symmetrical little hollows right alongside it? She groaned inwardly. She had yet to find anything about the Corellian’s physical self that wasn’t sublime, and it was all conspiring together to drive her out of her mind.

Han straightened and angled toward her once more, his face a grinning visage of smug satisfaction. “Busted,” he drawled.

Leia snapped back to reality, cleared her throat and willed herself not to blush, even as she felt the tell-tale warmth begin to creep into her cheeks. “I beg your pardon?”

“You. You’re checking me out.”

“I was not. Just because my head is turned in your direction doesn’t mean my eyes are on you, Han.”

“If you say so,” he shrugged. “I know better.”

“You’re infuriating,” Leia scoffed, hoping her dismissive tone was enough to squash any further discussion on the matter. “And you’re imagining things.”

“And you’re covering up.” He jabbed a finger in her direction, one corner of his mouth tipping up into a knowing half-grin. “All I’m saying is that there’s lookin’, and then there’s lookin’. I can tell the difference.”

“Is that so? Enlighten me, then. How can you tell the difference?”

“It’s easy,” Han explained, wiping his hands on the filthy rag he tugged from his pocket. “See, when someone’s really lookin’, it ain’t just in their eyes. It’s in their whole expression, their posture, their body language. You can tell instantly, like it’s written all over ‘em. And you, Sweetheart, were lookin’.”

“I was not,” Leia pressed. “I was…watching you repair the hydraulic sensors.”

“Oh yeah?” He crossed his arms over his bare chest and cocked his head. “Which part did I just swap out, then?”

Leia blinked. “Huh?”

“If you were watching, you’ll know what part I just replaced. Posterior pressure transducer, or lateral transfer conduit?”

Her mind scrambling to come up with a response, Leia glanced down at the hangar deck, absently tapping her booted toe against the grease-stained duracrete. “The…um…I think it was the…ahhh….”

Leia considered her options carefully. She could take a wild guess to try and maintain her ruse; but, if she was wrong, chances were that she’d never hear the end of it, even though she could conceivably plead ignorance about the specific components of the old YT-1300. Or she could simply throw her hands up in exasperation and grind out a terse fine; I was looking. Are you happy now? But admitting that was guaranteed to draw the Corellian’s cocky swagger, and she’d definitely never live it down. Either way, she was caught in a conundrum from which there was little hope of escape.

And Han—he wasn’t making it any easier for her. He was grinning like a Gungan, his eyes alight with mirth as he waited patiently for her response.  

She had just opened her mouth to stammer something to buy herself some time, when the shrill screech of an alarm sounded from inside the ship, piercing her frazzled thoughts. She glanced up at Han, at the same time as his Wookiee co-pilot ducked down from the top of the ramp to glare at him, and barked something in Shyriiwook that made Han’s jovial expression collapse into an annoyed-looking scowl.

He uttered an oath under his breath in his native tongue, and waved a dismissive hand in Chewie’s direction. “Of course I hear it, you big oaf,” he returned. “Keep your fur on; I’m coming up to have a look.” He turned back to her and shrugged. “Hold that thought,” he said, dipping down to scoop up his discarded shirt. “I’ll be right back.”

“I have to go, myself,” she bluffed. “I have some…things to do. Paperwork to catch up on.” She winced inwardly, hoping that didn’t come across as disingenuous, but it was the best her addled brain could muster up under the circumstances.  

“Ah. Catch up with you later, then?” Han offered.

She nodded, taking a last mental snapshot of his fine physique in motion as he took off at a jog up the ramp to attend to his ship before allowing her tense shoulders to sag, and huffing a sigh of relief. That was too close for comfort. She’d let her guard down, and it had almost cost her. She needed to be more mindful in her surreptitious observation of the handsome Corellian in future; next time, she might not be so lucky.

**************

So…there you have it, lovely Anon. The long answer as above, or the short answer: Nope. She’d never just throw her hands up and admit defeat, because she’s Leia. :D

[graylit]

NOT FOR REBLOG !!!

Takes place directly after TFA. Rey is captured by the the First Order before mere moments before Chewie arrives to rescue she and Finn. Alone and assuming the worst about her remaining friends, Rey feels she has little choice but to comply to the wishes of Supreme Leader Snoke, undergoing her training with Kylo Ren shortly after her arrival aboard the Supremacy. 

            ACT THE FIRST. DEATH OF THE PERIHELION

Numb and trembling she sat in the shuttle, adrenaline waning and dread settling deep in her bones. How foolish of her to believe that all light was good. That the beams that blinded her were their salvation. It was the hope of a CHILD, of a little girl who still believed that those who cared for her would come back, that they would rescue her from the horrors that filled the galaxy. They were NOT the lights of the Millennium Falcon that banished the darkness, but of a craft FAR more sinister.

Stormtroopers descended like pestilence, leaving the exhausted girl little time to react. Her weapon is taken in moments & she is hauled aboard the ship, leaving Finn unconscious in the snow behind them. Her shrieks of rage fell upon deaf ears, her violent struggling subdued. They would not allow a traitor on their ship, no matter how she begged. They would have him die where he lived, where he was trained, where he was born. She would never know of Chewbacca’s arrival & of the rescue that might have been their own.

As if the universe wished to add insult to injury, her adversary had not fallen into the rift following their duel. Across the shuttle he was tended to by a medic droid, a grim expression on his ruined face. Anger was quick to fill the frozen void, familiar heat replacing the emptiness that dug cold fingers into her veins. She half expected the frightening voice to follow the surge, the one that had so nonchalantly suggested she FINISH her opponent. How satisfying it would have been to dart across the craft and do just that…

Rey savored the inferno as they carted her across the stars. It was a feeling she could live with, a feeling had lived with. The grit of sand lined her soul, the scorching sun banishing the chill before it could settle. She would never return home, but she would carry it within her.

She was all but thrown before the Supreme Leader some cycles later. He terrifies her but it does not show. She feared her frantic heartbeat was audible throughout the vast room. She did not cower before him though, determined not to give him the satisfaction. Her back remaining stiff and her dark eyes filled with defiance. He did not punish her for her insolence, not in the way she would have expected. His approach was almost tender as he dug through her mind, which made the intrusion all the more intolerable.

He spoke of her like one would read from the pages of holonet, skimming through her head as with an ease that put Kylo Ren to shame. Feeble barriers could not withstand the siege, crumbling like the walls of Maz’s castle back on Takodana. He found the map to Skywalker effortlessly, though the intrusion did not end there. He continued to riffle through her consciousness, examining each thought and memory before tossing it aside.

She could feel the frazzled ends of hidden memory, a live wire in her brain where Snoke had probed so carelessly. Fractured images floating before her eyes, unfamiliar faces warping and twisting down at her from a great height. She is small & afraid all over again…

                                                     When she was dismissed, it is with a proposition.                                                                               Train  or  perish.  .  .   

                                                            TO  BE  CONTINUED

The following are the events that occur upon her induction into the First Order & The Knights of Ren and does not comply with the canon events of TLJ ( yet )

Though they chase the Resistance across the stars, they escape in the midst of bombs and chaos, leaving both parties to regroup once more.

Rey is untrusted by all in the FO, under surveillance day and night. Even as she accompanies her “master” across the galaxy, she is under suspicion. How DEEP does he loyalty of a light dweller lie?

She is thrust upon General Hux who sees to her academic tutelage when she is not in the company of Knights for physical and Force training. Strengthening her knowledge of the galaxy beyond when she had gleaned on Jakku.

Her light fades within the shadows, the presence of such morbid company CONSUMING it bit by bit. Her rage festers like a wound, darkness spreading throughout her being like an illness, making her harsh and brutal until the day came that she SNAPPED.

Her mind split, buried memories returning in unnaturally VIVID clarity, her family at the forefront. She is left in a very precarious state of mind as Snoke, unbeknownst to her, wages war against her consciousness. As a gift for her good work in training, the Supreme Leader informs her of their whereabouts. It’s the first time she asks for Kylo’s help. They find them together, he watches as she SLAUGHTERS THEM.

It feels good, it feels POWERFUL, it KILLS her light. She has no other choice but to surrender, to receive the dark. She finally has their trust,  but THE RITE is not yet complete.  .  .

She battles alongside them, fierce and beautiful. She watches the Resistance CRUMBLE in stoic sorrow ‘til she stands on an empire built atop a foundation of BONES. They find royalty amongst the wreckage, proud and passionate as her son. The very son that cannot bring himself to end her life. 

Student becomes TEACHER, slave becomes MASTER. She runs Leia Organa through. She has proven her worth, proven her LOYALTY where Kylo Ren could not and she aches.

The Supreme Leader deems her a pupil more worthy than the boy of LEGACY and takes her under his wing, casting Kylo Ren aside. She is taught the likes of which she could never comprehend, power beyond measure. Their combined will casts a SHADOW across the galaxy darker than the Sith of old could ever cast. 

                                              The Rite is complete.  .  .